


distant dreams of things to be

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dreams, M/M, Suburbia, Surreal, Twin Peaks References, spncasefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: Taking a break from Heaven’s business, Castiel joins the Winchesters on a hunt in a small town that doesn’t exist on any map. The facts are these: a girl has been found dead in a river, heart missing, throat ripped out. They have no witnesses, no evidence, and plenty of suspects. Castiel can’t shake the feeling that the town teeters on the border between dream and reality. Soon, it becomes hard to tell who’s telling the truth — or whether anyone, including Sam and Dean, is safe — and it’s down to Castiel to unravel the sleepy town’s eerie secret.





	distant dreams of things to be

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm being honest, this is my first time writing something as... weird as this. I blame Twin Peaks. Kudos for everyone that manages to find Twin Peaks easter eggs hidden within this story! There are at least a few :) If you think something doesn't make sense, even in the end -- blame the owls. Probably.
> 
> As usual, big thank you to the wonderful mods, to Lauren (the best alpha and beta I could ever dream of), and to my amazing artist Jay. It's the third time we've worked on a bang together and, as always, it's been always a great experience <3 
> 
> Written for [SPN Case Fic 2017](http://spncasefic.tumblr.com/).  
> [ART MASTERPOST](http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/161491018177/part-of-the-spn-case-fic-mini-bang-2017-fic-on-ao3)
> 
>  **Note:** I started writing it before season 12 finale, before knowing what exactly was going to happen to Cas/his grace. In this fic, he's an angel, he's working with Heaven again, but it's a work in progress between him and the angels -- still not entirely sure whether one side can trust the other. Cas leaves for Heaven often, but he also visits the Earth -- and the bunker -- quite a lot.

The bunker is dark and quiet when Castiel steps down the stairs into the war room, and only then does he realise that it’s the middle of the night.

Huffing to himself, he ventures into the library and sits down in one of the chairs. Time in heaven passes so differently than on Earth — first of all, it’s almost never linear — so it’s not unusual that he would get lost in keeping track of it. It has happened before — most often a few years ago, when his adventure with the Winchesters was just starting and he would still spend more time upstairs than among humans. 

It’s a different story, now. 

He’s an angel and he’s welcome in heaven, which is a pleasant change, but his preferred place of dwelling is still Earth — specifically, this bunker. The other angels often do not understand. He doesn’t want them to.

Castiel thinks about going to his room — it’s across from Dean’s, and there’s his bed from the times he still needed one — but he doesn’t want to sit there alone. Here, he can at least read something.

He’s still immersed in a book when he hears footsteps. He lifts his head just in time to see Sam walk into the war room and towards the kitchen.

The movement must catch Sam’s attention because he stops and looks at him in alarm.

“Good morning, Sam,” he says and stands up.

Sam chuckles. “Cas! Hey. You scared me, man.”

Castiel nods his apology. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Well, good,” Sam says with a wide smile. “When did you get here?” 

Castiel follows him into the kitchen and watches as Sam takes out a small bottle of water from the fridge and tucks it into the holder attached to his belt. He’s dressed for exercise.

“A few hours ago,” he says. “I forgot it was nighttime.”

Sam sends him a curious look, but doesn’t press him. Instead, he asks, “Everything okay upstairs?”

“It is, yes. At least I think so.” Castiel shrugs, unsure. “They still keep some things from me sometimes, but it’s only understandable.”

Sam makes a face. “Sure, whatever you say. Wanna go running with me?”

Castiel smiles, but shakes his head. His wings are still healing, slowly, so flying to Heaven requires much more effort than it used to. He doesn’t think he could stand exerting himself even more at the moment.

“Thought so,” Sam chuckles. “Well, Dean’s probably gonna be up soon, too, so just… help yourself to the coffee or something,” he says, and is out of the kitchen within seconds.

Castiel looks over at the empty coffee maker, glances after Sam’s retreating form, and shrugs again. He hopes he still remembers how to do it properly.

Dean shuffles into the kitchen only a few minutes later, just as Castiel takes his first sip of the coffee. He stops dead in the doorway and gapes at Castiel through half-open eyes.

“Hi,” he rasps out and runs his fingers through his hair, somewhat awkwardly. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets with a smile. He pulls a mug out of the cabinet, pours coffee into it, and walks over to hand it to Dean, who accepts it with uncertain hands.

“Uh. Thanks,” Dean murmurs and looks down at the coffee. “Did you—”

“No, it’s black.”

“Oh. Good.” Dean lifts his head again and sends Castiel a small smile. “Thanks,” he repeats.

“I know how you like your coffee, Dean,” Castiel says, exasperated, and goes back to sit at the table.

Dean shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Stalker.”

“Friend,” Castiel challenges.

Dean doesn’t answer, just raises his eyebrows in amusement and opens the fridge.

“Sam out?”

“He’s running, yes,” Castiel answers.

“Cool. You gonna eat with us?” Dean asks, tone casual.

“Only if you make pancakes.”

“Cool,” Dean says again.

It’s quiet for a moment, Dean moving around the kitchen and gathering the ingredients, both of them sipping their coffee. Castiel thinks back to all the mornings they sat like this, waiting for Sam to return from his run, when Castiel was still almost entirely human and spent most of his time in the bunker. He always loved when Dean made pancakes.

Dean clears his throat. “So. It’s been a while.”

Castiel glances at the phone he’s put on the table. He hasn’t visited in over two weeks. 

“Yes. I’ve lost track of time.”

“Guess you’re staying busy in Heaven, now that you’re all important again,” Dean says and flips a pancake.

“I’m not that important,” Castiel protests, “but yes, you could say that.”

“Cool,” Dean mutters, then slides a plate of pancakes towards him. “Eat up, man.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says.

They smile at each other for a few seconds, and then Dean goes back to the pancakes, his back to Castiel.

“You staying for long?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” Castiel says. It’s true; he could be asked to return to Heaven any second and it would be better if he obeyed, no matter how busy he could be here on Earth. But he doesn’t tell Dean that, for now. “A while, I think.”

Before Dean can answer, the front door slams closed and they hear Sam running down the stairs.

Dean, hands on his hips, turns over and shouts, “Hurry up, Healthypants, we’ve got—”

Sam appears in the doorway with his phone in his hand before Dean can finish the sentence.

“We’ve got a case,” he says.

***

The body of a seventeen year old white girl has been found among the shrubbery at the riverbank in the small town of Leavenworth, Washington. It washed up in the early hours of the dawn and probably wouldn’t have been noticed for days if it weren’t for Mr. Martell, who had decided it was a perfect day for fishing. According to him, the girl, at first glance, looked quite normal, maybe except for the paleness of her skin and the filthy mess of her hair.

When the local sheriff appeared to investigate the matter, it was discovered, though, that the girl’s throat, hidden under the red scarf around her neck, had been ripped out.

It’s almost twenty-four-hour drive to Washington so they don’t waste any time and file into the Impala right after breakfast.

“So, what are we thinking,” Dean asks when Sam pauses and looks up from the police report on his phone. “A vampire?”

“She wasn’t drained,” Sam says with a grim face, “and that’s not all.”

Upon further examination, it had been discovered that the girl’s chest was covered with strange, occult-looking markings.

Dean’s brow furrows. “Uh, so… a witch?”

“The markings were made in a purple permanent pen,” Sam reads out.

Dean pushes the pedal harder and the Impala rushes forward. “Come again?” he splutters.

“That’s still not all,” Sam mutters.

The post-mortem revealed that the girl’s heart was missing.

“Okay,” Dean says. “I know what it was.”

“You do?” Castiel asks and leans forward from where he’s sitting in the backseat of the car. 

“If you say were-pire, I’m gonna slap you,” Sam threatens.

Dean makes a face. “You wouldn’t dare. Also, it wouldn’t be a were-pire — rather a witch-were-pire—”

“A were-vamp-itch,” Castiel suggests.

“Fuck yes!” Dean laughs and turns in his seat to send Castiel a grin. “Cas gets me. A werevampitch it is, then!”

“But it can’t be, the blood was intact and the markings—”

“Yeah, I know, Sam,” Dean says. Castiel knows, even though he can’t see his face anymore, that he’s rolling his eyes at his brother. “That’s not what I wanted to say. I was gonna say that there’s no case and the girl has been murdered by a jealous best friend who thought she could do dark magic. Hence the purple pen and all that stuff.”

“And the missing heart?” Sam asks skeptically. “You really think a _jealous best friend_ would manage to simply tear the heart out of another girl?”

Dean shrugs. “People are sick.”

“Well, I’m not buying it,” Sam says, and turns back to his phone. “We’re gonna go talk to the sheriff first, check out the body, maybe also find Mr. Martell and ask him about some more details.”

“What about the girl’s family and friends?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah,” Sam murmurs, “we’ll need to talk to them too. As soon as we know who the girl was.”

“They don’t know who she was?” Dean raises his brows.

Sam scrolls through his phone, already deep into another article. “Nope. And that’s the weird part.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s the weirdest,” Dean mutters.

When the night falls and Dean refuses to let Castiel drive while the Winchesters sleep (Castiel tries not to show his frustration on his face), they stop at the motel somewhere in the middle of Montana and rent a room to get a few-hour sleep. Castiel doesn’t leave for Heaven, but stays with them and spends the night watching TV shows on Dean’s laptop and trying not to pay any attention to Dean’s quiet breathing.

***

Leavenworth is a small town in the north-west of Washington, with a population of barely two thousand people and a sheriff who claims to know everything about everybody. 

“My family’s been here for generations,” he says, his enormous mustache twitching with every move of his mouth. “I’ve been at this post for nearly thirty years. When I tell you I’ve never see this girl in my life, agents, it means I’ve never seen her. Showing me the same picture over and over again ain’t gonna change anything.”

Castiel squints at the man, feeling Dean fidget on the bench seat beside him as he pockets the phone with the photograph on it. His thigh brushes against the hem of Castiel’s coat. 

“What about Mr. Martell? You sure he doesn’t recognise her?”

The sheriff nods. “I could call him up here again, if you wanna hear it from him, but he won’t tell you anything new. She’s a total stranger, agent.”

“Sucks you found her in your waters, doesn’t it,” Dean says lightly, “and you’re the ones that have to deal with it now.”

Sam would probably hit him with an elbow for joking about this, if he was here, and not sounding like a professional FBI agent, but Castiel doesn’t move. He must have made a million more mistakes like that in his short career as a fake federal agent, and he doesn’t feel he has any right to criticise. Also, Dean’s knee is now resting against Castiel’s knee, casually, and Castiel doesn’t really feel any desire to change it.

The sheriff doesn’t react badly, either — on the contrary, he looks up and sends them a crooked smile. “Actually, agent, you had me thinking. Those are not just our waters, we share them with Boulder Springs.”

Dean exchanges a look with Castiel.

“What are Boulder Springs?” he asks.

“Our neighbours,” the sheriff says with a huff. “Used to be one town in the past, but guess our ancestors had their differences and decided to split the town. There was something about the river, too. Good thing it happened, though, if you ask me.”

“Really?” Dean leans forward, shifting again. The warm pressure of his knee disappears from Castiel’s leg. “Why?”

“They’re pretty weird, the folks over in Boulder Springs,” the sheriff says. “We still don’t get along. Hell, we barely have any contact with them anymore, to be honest.”

“Do you think the girl might have lived in Boulder Springs?” Castiel asks.

“As I said, we don’t know each other. But yeah, she might’ve, sure.”

“How far is this town?”

***

When they meet up with Sam at the motel, he’s got more or less the same news as they do.

“So get this, apparently, there’s another town nearby—”

“We know,” Dean calls from inside the bathroom. He comes out just in time to see a self-satisfied smirk on his brother’s face.

“But did you know that town doesn’t exist?” Sam asks.

Castiel frowns. “You just said it does. We know it does, the sheriff told us—”

“Well, yeah, in reality, it does. But not officially.” He pulls out his phone and turns it towards Castiel. There’s a map displayed on it, with Leavenworth as its centre, and the Wenatchee River curling around it like a tiny blue snake. “See? It doesn’t exist on the map.”

Dean crowds in against Castiel, trying to peek at Sam’s phone. He must have used deodorant when he changed his clothes in the bathroom because Castiel is flooded with its fresh scent.

“Maybe it’s an old map,” Dean suggests.

“It’s Google.” Sam scowls.

“Maybe it’s just not an official town,” Castiel says and tries to breathe through his mouth when Dean doesn’t move away. The scent is making his head dizzy. “The sheriff said they used to be a united town.”

Sam looks back at his phone, head shaking, a frown on his face. “I don’t know. Feels kinda strange, doesn’t it? You’d think you could find everything on a map nowadays.”

“We’ll see,” Dean says. “It’s supposed to be only half an hour away, we could be there before sundown, find another motel, start investigating first thing in the morning. I don’t like this room anyway,” he adds, looking around with a hint of disgust visible in the small frown on his face. 

“Lemme just freshen up a bit,” Sam says and heads towards the bathroom.

“Sure thing, princess,” Dean mocks.

“You don’t get to talk, you haven’t spent your afternoon in a morgue.”

“Whatever, Elsa.” Dean chuckles and turns to look at Castiel. He raises his brows when he notices Castiel’s half-open mouth and the look on concentration that must be visible on his face. “You okay, man?”

Castiel nods, catches another whiff of Dean’s inviting scent, and quickly steps back. It has become more and more difficult to control himself around Dean. It was particularly hard back when he was human (or almost human), but right now, when he’s nearly back to being a fully powered angel again, with all his senses intact and a million times stronger than those of a human…

...it verges on impossible.

“Cas?”

Castiel looks up, eyes focusing back on Dean’s face, and he nods again. “Yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking… about… the body.”

Dean makes a face. “Yeah, you looked like it.” He slaps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Okay, tell Samantha to hurry up, will you. I’ll wait by the car.”

He’s gone before Castiel can answer.

***

They’re very close to the town and Castiel is in the middle of telling the brothers about the newest TV show he’s recently heard about — even though he’s not entirely sure they are listening — when he’s hit by a wave of nausea so strong, it renders him speechless for a moment. He grips the handle of the Impala’s back door and breathes in and out a few times.

“Cas?” Dean asks, muffling a yawn. “You okay back there?”

Castiel grunts, unsure whether it’s safe to open his mouth and respond. Dean keeps looking at him in the rearview mirror, though, so he raises a thumb at him and nods.

“Dude, are you getting car sick? Do you want me to pull over?” Dean asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“No,” Castiel murmurs, “it’s okay. We’re almost there, anyway.”

“You sure? You look sick,” Dean says, a frown on his face. “If you puke in my car, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Dude,” Sam chastises and turns in his seat to look back at Castiel, as well. “It’s true, though. I once puked all over the backseat when we were kids and he made me clean everything myself as soon as I got better.”

“I wasn’t gonna touch your puke!”

“Could you please,” Castiel mutters, breathing in through his nose and closing his eyes, “stop talking about vomit for a moment? It’s not really helping.”

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles and turns away, but Dean keeps glancing at him in the rearview mirror, as if checking that he really doesn’t get sick. After a few more calming breaths, Castiel feels the nausea ebb away, leaving his hands shaking and his forehead pearling with sweat. He has no idea what just happened – he isn’t supposed to get sick now that he’s an angel again… maybe it was because of something he ate?

“Better?” Dean asks after a while. Castiel looks up, surprised to catch him still sneaking glances at him as he drives.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay now.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, and he sounds concerned.

“I have no idea,” Castiel says.

“Maybe you drive terribly,” Sam chuckles. “Got the poor angel sick.”

“You take that back,” Dean nearly growls and pokes his brother in the arm. “You take that back right _now_.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’...”

“You’re spewing profanities, that’s what you’re doing…”

Castiel smiles to himself and stays quiet, enjoying the brothers’ squabble, his previous moment of weakness forgotten. He spends the rest of the ride gazing out the window and watching as the sleepy, colourful houses pass by in a blur.

Soon, Dean parks the Impala by a motel that looks both perfectly civil and yet deserted, coloured in pale greens, with flower pots and white curtains visible through the windows. Dean throws Sam the car keys and goes to pay for a room while Sam and Castiel get their bags out of the trunk. The parking lot is empty and quiet, the spring sun setting slowly behind the horizon and painting the asphalt with pinks and oranges.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sam asks as they wait for Dean to return with their keys. “You still look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says. “Really.”

Sam shrugs and yawns hugely. “Must’ve been something you ate.”

“Exactly,” Castiel says and, hearing footsteps, turns to look at Dean coming back towards them.

“Guess what,” Dean says with a grin and suddenly there are keys flying towards Castiel. He catches them at the last moment, taken by surprise. “There’s barely anyone in the motel and the rooms are ridiculously cheap, so I got you your own room, Cas.”

“But I don’t sleep,” Castiel says, frowning down at the keys in his hand.

“No, but I’d rather you didn’t stay up all night watching TV while _we_ try to sleep,” Dean says. “It wasn’t a problem when you used to fly back upstairs, but now that you stick around more often, well, you know. I need my few hours.”

“I can go, if you—”

“Hey. Not what I meant,” Dean says, smiling, and claps a friendly hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Just say thanks and go watch your dumb show. You can even take my laptop.”

“See you in the morning, Cas,” Sam murmurs and yawns again. “Damn, I’m beat.”

“Dibs on the shower,” Dean says, throws his bag over his shoulder, and rushes to the door of their room. “Night, Cas.”

“Hey! Why do you always—”

“I’m older—”

“But I _just_ said I’m tired—”

“Yeah, well, I’m more tired, I drove your ass here—”

The words quiet down when the door behind the Winchesters closes with a click. Castiel stands there for a moment, a lone bag in his hand, and turns to look at the setting sun. It’s barely seven in the evening, he thinks, and it’s not even entirely dark yet, but if the brothers claim to be too weary to stay awake, Castiel will gladly spend the night in his own room, catching up on TV shows and waiting for the sun to rise again.

***

As soon as the day begins, Castiel is pulled out of the show he’s watching by a loud chirp of his phone. He squints down at it in the dim daylight and is surprised to see it’s from Dean.

**Dean 6:03**

**__** _Went out to talk with the sheriff, be back later. Make yourself useful and look around town_

The yellow bubbles draw Castiel’s attention even more than the weird command. He has never seen Dean use emoticons before, and especially not ones like these — one smirking face, one winking face. They’re amused, teasing, and could probably be considered flirtatious, as well. Castiel spends the next minute simply looking at them as if they could help him understand how Dean’s mind works, and then it occurs to him to get up and check the Winchesters’ room.

True to the text, the door off to Castiel’s left is locked, and when he peers through the window with the curtains drawn back, he sees that the room seems empty. They must really want to solve this case as quickly as possible, considering they’re up this early in the morning. Castiel’s about to go back to his room to finish the episode when the pots visible on the sill of the brothers’ room catch his gaze. Similarly to the ones in his room, the plants are almost completely dead, dry brown leaves falling off the stems, the soil parched and full of weeds. Castiel sighs wistfully, the sight making something sting inside of him. He has already watered the plants back in his room, even though it probably won’t help much now — he makes a mental note to remember about the plants in Sam and Dean’s room when they get back.

He tries to get back to watching the episode but now that he’s been interrupted, he can’t focus on the plot, so he turns off the computer and goes back outside. He wanders into the reception area, hoping to find someone responsible for the motel to tell them about the plants. It’s empty, though, a chair turned the other way as if someone was in a hurry to get up and walk out of the room. Castiel looks around, curious — and there, in the corner, he finds a huge potted plant, the kind that towers over everything once it grows, except for the fact that all the leaves are gone, crumbling on the floor all around the room instead. 

Castiel huffs, annoyed. The motel seemed lovely enough yesterday, without counting the tiny flowers in his room, but now he’s inclined to change his mind. He tries not to judge people he doesn’t even know but no one that can’t even remember about caring about their plants can be a good and reliable business owner.

Irritated and a little melancholic, Castiel decides to actually take Dean’s advice, go out, and try to find out something that could help them solve the case. He’s nowhere near as skillful as the brothers, but he likes to think he’s also not entirely hopeless. He leaves his fake badge in his bag, though — this town doesn’t need yet another FBI agent since it already has Dean and Sam. Castiel hopes he can learn something useful also as a civilian.

Half an hour later, Castiel passes a school. It’s still quite early, but he sees some students heading through the parking lot towards the main door, their postures sleepy and apathetic. He passes by and tries not to stare for too long, something he’s learned from the brothers that one time they had to keep an eye on a high school student ‘without looking like a creep,’ as Dean put it. Even if he wanted to, Castiel can’t try to ask the students any questions because he still doesn’t know much about the case. Hopefully, once Dean and Sam come back, it will become clearer what they have to do next.

The brick wall at the end of the parking lot proclaims, in an energetic red spray, ‘ _This is hell and we can’t leave_ ,’ and Castiel looks at it for a moment, head swarming with all the pop culture references to teenagers who hate school and can’t wait to leave its constricting walls. Briefly, he thinks about the Winchesters — he knows a lot of facts about how they acted back in their school years, but he has no idea if they ever really felt like that. Sometimes he wishes he could have known them back then.

It seems there’s nothing really important for him to do here without coming off as suspicious or weird. He finds a small grocery store and walks inside to try to ask some questions, but can’t really think of one. Instead, he buys a few snacks, for himself and for the brothers — he has no idea if they even had breakfast. The young girl at the checkout looks bored and barely says a word to him, so Castiel leaves with a calm ‘have a nice day’ and heads back towards the motel.

He can see Dean and Sam are back immediately because Impala is again parked right outside the motel and, for some reason, the door to their room is hanging open.

Castiel pokes his head inside, carefully, and is surprised to see both brothers half-lying on their respective beds, watching TV and munching on burgers. The door squeaks when he pushes them and the Winchesters’ heads snap towards him in unison.

“Oh, hi, Cas,” Dean calls out, heaving himself up on the bed. “Come on in, we got you a burger.”

Castiel walks in, closing the door behind him. He spots a brown packet on the kitchenette table and picks it up, peering inside. The juicy, unhealthy smell of a burger hits his nose and he inhales with a tiny smile. 

“Happy?” Dean asks with a grin, and when Castiel looks up, he notices Dean is watching him with rapt attention visible on his handsome face. 

“Very. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Duh,” Dean says, then moves on his bed and pats the mattress right beside him. Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise, but Dean only grins at him and nods.

Wary, Castiel walks over towards Dean’s bed, mindful of the way Dean’s eyes follow his every move. Sam is staring at the TV and not paying any attention to them, but Castiel still feels a tiny flush rising up in his face at the mere thought of being so close to Dean all of a sudden. He sits down carefully, glancing at Dean as if waiting for him to tell him off and push him away, but Dean sends him a wink instead and turns back to watch TV. Castiel, confused, leans back against the headboard, feeling his shoulder brush against Dean’s and not daring to breathe too loud.

After a few moments of this — sitting close, eating, mindlessly staring at the TV screen — Castiel’s thoughts slowly return to their right tracks. He clears his throat, drawing both brothers’ attention back to himself.

“How did it go?” he asks. He can almost feel Dean’s eyes burning holes in the side of his head. When he meets Sam’s uncertain gaze, he clarifies, “The sheriff?”

“Oh,” Sam sighs, understanding dawning on his face. “Right. Good, I guess.”

“Did you learn anything new?” Castiel asks.

“The girl _was_ from here,” Dean says. “The sheriff said he knew her.”

“Okay,” Castiel says. “What was her name?”

Dean glances at Sam, whose brows knit for a split of second.

“Sally Wright,” he answers. “She was seventeen, had many friends, didn’t cause any problems. Her parents are in shock.”

“That isn’t surprising,” Castiel mutters. “Do you have any idea what killed her?”

“Well, I saw the body back in Leavenworth and I didn’t have any new ideas,” Sam says. “We need to investigate this town and try to find out some more details. Maybe what she was doing when she died and things like that.”

“What about you?” Dean asks and his shoulder brushes against Castiel’s with intent. Castiel turns, his eyes meeting Dean’s. “Tell us what you found out, angel.”

Castiel blinks.

“I meant _agent_ ,” Dean corrects himself, and blushes.

“I didn’t—” Castiel swallows. Dean’s face is a lovely shade of pink, up to the tips of his ears, and he’s looking down, the sun rays falling through the window painting his eyelashes gold. Castiel can’t stop looking at him. “I didn’t pose as an agent. And I didn’t find anything — just walked around. I—”

The brothers just look at him in silence, and it’s his turn to look down. Suddenly, it feels as if he should have done more trying to help solve this case and, even though he knows it’s not that easy, he feels even more dispensable than usual.

“It’s okay,” Dean hums and bumps their shoulders together. The mattress wobbles beneath their joined weight and pushes them closer together. “No rush. We’ll figure it out.”

“How about I go talk with the parents today and you two investigate the school and Sally’s friends?” Sam suggests. “Try to find out what happened when they last saw her, who was with her. Anything suspicious that seems relevant can be a clue. Maybe it really was a vampire, or a werewolf, or whatever. The quicker we find it, the quicker we can go back home.”

“I like this plan,” Dean states and leans back against the headboard. “But it’s barely noon, so both of you shut up and let me watch this show in peace.”

Castiel smiles at Dean without him noticing, too busy staring at the TV screen with something close to rapture visible on his face. Not sure what to do with himself, Castiel simply stays where he is, with Dean warm at his side and the quiet murmur of the TV distracting him from their closeness.

***

“Oh, man,” Dean says with a huff. “I don’t miss this place _at all_.”

Castiel looks at him, curious, as they climb the stairs towards the main door to the high school building. He presumes Dean means school in general, not this one in particular — unless…

Dean must realise how this sounded — or he simply notices it on Castiel’s face — because he shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “No, we’ve never lived here, at least not that I can remember. I just meant, you know. High school. Generally.”

“Oh. Right. Was it really that bad?”

They walk inside as Dean ponders his question. All of the students must still be in their classes because the corridors are empty and quiet, dim fluorescent lamps coating everything in soft green and blue hues. Their shoes make squelching noises as they walk down the hall, along the rows of closed doors.

“It was boring,” Dean mutters with a wince. “Messy. The kids were jerks.” When Castiel opens his mouth to ask another question, Dean shakes his head, a grim expression on his face. “Let’s not talk about it now, okay? Promise I’ll tell you all about my heartbreaks some other time.”

Castiel wants to say he isn’t really interested in hearing any of this, but then suddenly a loud noise sounds right over their heads. It makes Castiel jump, his heart beating painfully hard against his ribcage as his face grows hot at Dean’s laughter.

“It’s only a schoolbell, Cas,” he teases and puts a comforting hand on Castiel’s shoulder. It stays there as most of the doors open and students start filing out, most of them chatting quietly between themselves, almost everyone with a bored or sleepy expression on their face. “Come on. Those girls look old enough to be in the same grade as the dead girl.”

“Sally,” Castiel reminds him, and Dean grunts an affirmative and pulls him towards the end of the hall with a hand now wrapped around his elbow.

“Hey, guys,” Dean says when they reach a group of teenage girls who crowd against their lockers, chitchatting. “Do you have a minute?”

Castiel notices that the girls are not surprised to see two casually dressed men in the middle of high school, attempting to talk to them, but he supposes they must be aware of the FBI agents trying to solve the case and have probably been warned by their teachers or parents. He eyes all of them carefully, though, leaving most of the talking to Dean.

“Sure,” one of the girls, tall with long dark hair, answers with a shrug. 

“We’re with the FBI,” Dean says, but doesn’t reach for his badge. Castiel doesn’t, either, following his example. “Did you know Sally Ride?”

“ _Wright_ ,” Castiel hisses.

The girls around them giggle.

“Right. Wright,” Dean repeats, which creates even more laughter. He smirks. “So? Was any of you friends with her?”

“Oh, yes,” the tall girl answers. “We all were. She was a cheerleader, too.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dean seems to lose track of his thoughts, because the next question doesn’t come. Castiel sends him a glare, but Dean looks back at him, unperturbed, and smiles lightly.

Castiel heaves a sigh. “When was the last time you saw her?” he asks, annoyance seeping into his voice even though he tries to remain professional. 

“Oh, like, Saturday? We all went out last Saturday,” one of the girls says.

“She was found dead on a Sunday morning,” Castiel says seriously. Dean doesn’t comment, so he gathers he must be doing it right and continues without hesitancy. “Do you have any idea what happened between Saturday evening when you saw her and Sunday morning?”

“No idea,” says a blonde girl leaning on the locker. “We all went home around, like, nine?” She looks around at her friends, and they all nod.

“Nine in the evening?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” another girl says. “We’re underage, you know.”

Dean raises his brow at her. “Are you trying to tell me your party ended at nine and you all just went home?”

“Yup,” the blonde girl says. “And we _did not_ drink any alcohol or anything.”

Castiel blinks at her, surprised to see most of the girls giggle again. He takes a breath to say something — to remind the girls that it is not the time to play games and joke around, especially since their friend is _dead_ — but then the dark-haired girl speaks up again. 

“Sorry, agents. We really need to go now.”

“Wait—” Castiel starts.

Dean puts his hand on the small of his back just as the girl sends them a meaningful look. 

“Our parents are waiting for us. We can’t be late,” she says with an innocent smile.

“You’re more than welcome to come around and ask them questions,” the blonde teenager adds. “I’m sure they’ll only tell you the same thing again.”

“Yeah, we swear we have no idea what happened to Sarah! We’re really sorry, though.”

Dean and Castiel watch as the girls walk away, whispering among themselves. Dean’s hand slowly slides down Castiel’s back, the warm touch disappearing. 

“Did she say Sarah?” Castiel asks quietly.

“I told you,” Dean says darkly. “Kids are jerks.”

***

All of Castiel’s hopes of Sam having more luck with interviewing the parents are crushed when they meet up in the brothers’ room. Sam is spread over his bed, watching what seems to be an entirely random TV program about whales. He nods at them as they walk inside, but doesn’t look particularly excited to see them and share the news with them.

“How’d it go?” Dean asks, sitting down on his bed, facing Sam.

Sam sighs and turns off the TV. “As usual. The parents still can’t believe something could have happened to their daughter, but they weren’t really helpful. They couldn’t really recall any weird behaviour, any weird people Sally might have known. They said she was a perfectly normal teenager, good grades, and all that.”

“What about the last time they saw her?” Castiel asks and, without thinking, sits down on the bed beside Dean.

“Saturday,” Sam says. “Before she went out with her friends.”

“So she _didn’t_ come back home at nine after all,” Dean mutters and he leans back with his hands behind his back. One of his palms ends up close to Castiel, Dean’s arm casually brushing his hip. 

“No,” Sam says and frowns. “Who told you she did?”

“Her friends,” Castiel says. “Well, they called themselves her friends, but I’m not sure they were telling the truth.”

“But why would they lie, knowing we’d learn the truth?” Sam wonders. “Do you think one of them is a monster?”

“Maybe all of them are,” Dean suggests with a shrug.

“What do we do now?” Castiel asks. “We didn’t find out anything of import.”

Suddenly, Sam smirks. “I did find out _something_ , thank you very much.” 

He pauses effectively and Dean leans forward to try to smack him with his hand. Sam moves away with a huff and Dean glares at him, falling back into the mattress, his thigh almost flush with Castiel’s now. 

“Sally had a boyfriend,” Sam says finally. “Her parents don’t believe he could’ve done something like this, but we should definitely talk to him. Maybe she met him after the party ended, maybe he knows what happened that night?”

“Maybe the girls weren’t lying after all,” Dean muses.

***

Adam Warner works at the grocery store, the same one Castiel visited in the morning. It’s still almost empty, with the exception of the older woman in a long brown sweater wandering around the shelves, as if looking for something she can’t seem to find. The man behind the register seems a few years older than the girls from high school and he looks up, a grim expression on his face, when Sam and Castiel walk in.

“Hi,” Sam says and flashes his badge. Castiel just sends the man a meaningful look. “Are you Adam?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly.

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

Adam looks around the store and shrugs, looking bored. Castiel notices that the woman in the sweater has stopped near the DIY section in the far away corner and seems to be examining one of the saws displayed there.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Sally,” Sam begins gently, leaning his elbow on the counter. He watches Adam carefully as he talks, handing him a silver pen to touch and waiting for his reaction as he subtly references witchcraft.

“You must have known something about the markings on Sally’s body,” Sam suggests. “She was your girlfriend, wasn’t she? Maybe you know something about—”

“I don’t,” Adam says, subdued. Castiel realises that what he has mistaken for boredom must be sadness and a feeling of loss. “We were kind of having problems, in the recent weeks, I mean. She started behaving… well, weirdly may be the word for it.”

“Weirdly how?” Castiel asks. 

Adam shrugs again, looking down. “She wouldn’t talk to me, about anything, really. I think she was keeping secrets from me, maybe even… seeing somebody behind my back.”

Castiel squints. “Do you know who?”

“No.” The man glares at him. “I’m not even sure this is really what was happening, I just had this… feeling, you know? She was kinda distant.”

“But you did meet her on Saturday night,” Sam says.

“No,” Adam repeats. “I was supposed to, but she never showed. So I went home and the next day I heard about…” He breaks off, closes his eyes, pain visible on his face.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Could you maybe tell us where you were supposed to meet?”

“Yeah. Here.” Adam pulls out a scrap of paper from under the counter, leans over it, and starts drawing. “You drive this road, here, it’s called Rosenfield Road, and it ends here, but you wanna follow the path that leads towards the river and…”

Adam keeps talking and sketching, Sam watching carefully, but Castiel turns suddenly and notices that the woman in the sweater is standing right beside them, a red saw in her pale hand.

“She had to die,” she intones, looking straight at Castiel, her face perfectly blank. “The girl. They had no choice.”

Castiel can feel Sam and Adam tense and stare at the woman, too. His throat feels dry all of a sudden.

“Go away,” Adam scoffs. “Get outta here.”

“Hey,” Sam says. “What’s going on? Who are you?” he asks the woman.

But she pins Castiel with one more look, puts the saw on a shelf full of sweets, and turns on her heel. Castiel takes a few unconscious steps in her direction.

“She’s crazy,” Adam mutters. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Don’t pay any attention to her.”

“Do you think she may know something about Sarah, though?” Sam asks.

“I’m not sure, I—”

Castiel turns back towards Sam so quickly he feels a little bit dizzy. “What did you just say?” he asks, staring into Sam’s face.

Sam gapes at him, mouth half-open. “What?”

“You just called her Sarah,” Castiel says. “You called her Sarah instead of Sally.”

“He didn’t,” Adam says, frowning.

“I didn’t,” Sam repeats and shakes his head.

“Yes, you did.” Castiel can feel his heart beat faster, eyes still glued to Sam’s surprised face. “I heard you.”

“You must have heard wrong, then,” Sam says, shrugging.

“The girl at the school called her Sarah, too,” Castiel says quietly. “Why?”

“Dude.” Adam glares at him. “Stop it. Why would she do that? She was Sally’s friend.”

Castiel blinks, confused. He’s almost hundred percent certain he heard Sam say ‘Sarah’, but both Sam and Adam are staring at him as if he has lost his mind and he doesn’t know what to think. He shakes his head, closes his eyes for a briefest of moments.

“I’ll wait in the car,” he says then, turns away, and exits the store, leaving Sam to finish the investigation. He pulls out his phone on his way through the empty parking lot and is dialing Dean’s number even before he can think this through. For some reason, his hands are trembling.

Dean doesn’t pick up, though, and the call goes to his voicemail. Castiel ends the connection and leans against the side of the Impala with a heavy sigh. When Sam returns, he asks Castiel if he’s feeling okay, and they don’t talk about the strange situation anymore.

***

The burger Castiel ate back at the motel starts acting up when they arrive at the riverbank. He clutches at his stomach and breathes through his mouth, a wave of unease making it impossible to get out of the car.

“Cas, you coming?” Dean asks and peeks into the backseat. He must notice Castiel’s face because he frowns. “You alright?”

“Go without me,” Castiel mumbles. “I feel weird.”

“It’s the second time,” Sam says. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel manages. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes to stop the vision from blurring. “Probably the burger.”

“Did you have anything except for the burger today?” Sam asks, concerned.

“No,” Castiel says. “But I shouldn’t— I’m not human, I don’t need to eat—”

“Maybe that’s why,” Dean mutters. “Why do you eat anyway?”

Castiel would glare at him, but he feels too weak at the moment to even lift his head. “I just like it,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Stay here and rest, we’ll check out the river.”

“You gonna be okay?” Dean asks. Castiel can feel his hand patting his shoulder gently.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m sure it’ll pass soon.”

He’s not wrong. By the time the Winchester come back — with no news, no clues, no theories about the river and the case — Castiel can already keep his head straighter and he doesn’t feel like vomiting anymore. When Dean pulls away and drives them back to the motel, Castiel feels okay again.

It’s dark when they park the Impala and get out. With one last glance Castiel’s way, both Winchesters disappear inside their room for the night.

Castiel spends almost an hour sitting on his bed with Dean’s laptop on his knees, trying to find anything that might give him any idea about the weird case, but to no avail — either because it’s impossible to find a solution to a nonexistent case or because he lacks important research skills.

Castiel pushes the laptop away and lies down on the bed, glaring at the ceiling. He’s annoyed — with himself, with this strange town, with the Winchesters, who seem to be asleep even though it’s barely ten in the evening. He’s lonely and bored and still a bit jittery from their trip to the riverbank. He doesn’t know who’s really to blame for any of that.

It takes him a moment, but he finally decides to do _something_ — anything is better than this quiet resignation. Sam and Dean won’t come out of their room until the morning, anyway, so they don’t even need to know he’s been gone for some time, just to check out how things are going…

He stands up, carefully unfurls his wings, and flies to Heaven.

***

The thing is, he never reaches Heaven.

Ice cold water floods his mouth and lungs as he thrashes around, confused and scared. He manages to swim up, to get his head above the water and take a deep, calming breath, and he realises he’s in the river. Trembling furiously, Castiel climbs out, inelegant and soaked to the bone. He wants to look around and figure out his exact surroundings, but the next thing he knows, he’s heaving loudly into the tall bushes by the riverbank, something unpleasant and cold making his stomach lurch and his throat burn.

Except for the burger eaten almost twelve hours ago, he hasn’t had anything else in his mouth today, so after a long moment of retching, he finally raises his head and wipes the wetness from his eyes. The wave of nausea is gone for now, it seems, and he leans back over the river to gather some water into his hands, washes his face, and takes a few tiny sips, just to get rid of the sour taste in his throat.

He finally glances around. It’s probably the same place they visited during the day, but it’s hard to really tell because of the darkness of the night. The river is slow and quiet and there’s no one else around, as far as Castiel can see, but he still feel a slight shiver run down his spine.

FInally, he stands up, legs still a little shaky, closes his eyes to concentrate, and tries to spread his wings again.

Nothing happens.

Worry clutching at his insides, Castiel fumbles with his wet coat and pulls out his phone. It’s still working, somehow, so he wipes the remaining water from its tiny screen and thumbs at it with numb fingers, dialling Dean’s number even before he realises who he’s calling. He doesn’t even stop to think Dean might not pick up — so when he doesn’t, and the call goes to voicemail, Castiel stands still for a moment, his phone still pressed to his ear, staring ahead without a thought in his head.

“Dammit,” he mutters then, and quickly calls Sam. This time, he’s not surprised when no one answers, though, angrily pushes the phone back into his pocket, and starts walking through the woods, back towards the main road.

It’s the middle of the night and he doesn’t expect crowds, but he’s still shocked when he doesn’t meet a living soul for the next half an hour, as he walks down the road towards what he hopes is the centre of the town. Not even one car passes him; he walks by pastel-coloured houses with black windows for eyes and carefully sealed doors, by closed stores and shops, by empty, neon-lit diners with dirty windows. His shoes squelch as he goes, cold wind making his wet clothes flutter and his skin prickle uncomfortably. He hasn’t felt this human in weeks, months even.

He passes a laundromat and stops for a moment, startled by the sound coming from the inside. When he peers in through a window, he notices that one of the laundry machines is working loudly, something that looks dark and heavy rolling inside of it, but with no one supervising it.

He jumps a bit when his phone goes off in his pocket. When he pulls it out and frowns down at the screen, he’s surprised to see Dean’s name.

“Hello?”

“Cas?” Dean sounds half-asleep, but there’s something akin to concern in his voice, too. Or so Castiel likes to think. “You called me.”

“I did,” Castiel says and resumes his walk down the empty street. “You didn’t answer.”

“I was asleep,” Dean says, sounding a bit displeased. 

“And you didn’t hear your phone?” Castiel mutters.

“Apparently, not,” Dean grunts. “I kinda woke up now, though, and couldn’t get back to sleep, and saw your name… What did you want?”

Castiel huffs, but it’s too quiet for Dean to hear. “I didn’t want— I just—- Dean, something bad is going on here.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks and yawns.

“I mean,” Castiel seethes, “I tried to fly to Heaven and landed in the river instead.”

If he’s waiting for a big reaction, he’s met with disappointment. Dean barely hums in acknowledgement, and if this isn’t something to worry about, Castiel doesn’t know what is. From his experience, Dean tends to worry a little too much sometimes, even about him.

“I’m… not really sure where I am now. I’m walking down the main road, but I don’t know itf it’s the right way,” he confesses begrudgingly. “I’m cold. And I’m pretty sure something is going on here, but it has nothing to do with Sally — or Sarah — Wright and everything to do with this town.”

“What do you mean?” Dean sounds surprised. 

“I mean, Dean...” Castiel says and stops in the middle of the street; there’s no one around anyway. He squeezes the bridge of his nose and breathes in and out a few times.

“Cas?” Dean asks, his soft and strangely calm voice a real contrast to what Castiel is feeling right now. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“Yes,” Castiel rasps and trembles when a particularly cold gust of wind sneaks underneath his clothes. “Please.”

***

The supermarket, just like the rest of the town, is closed and empty. Castiel sits down on the edge of the sidewalk, right beside an abandoned shopping cart, eyes roaming the dark parking lot in front of him. 

Dean finds him twenty minutes later, the Impala gleaming in the street lamp’s yellow light as she rolls down into the parking lot and stops in one of the numerous empty spaces. Castiel gets to his feet and winces when he feels his body protesting to the movement after sitting still for too long.

“Here you are,” Dean says over the top of the car. He smiles at him but Castiel can’t find the energy to smile back.

“How exactly did you know where to find this supermarket?” he asks instead. “It’s not even close to the motel.”

“Oh, we were here with Sam yesterday,” Dean says with a wink. He slams the car door and walks over to where Castiel is standing. He bites at his lower lip, suddenly uncertain. “Or two days ago?” 

“We weren’t here two days ago.” Castiel frowns. “And yesterday you were investigating the sheriff. I don’t think his office is anywhere around here.”

“The sheriff?” Dean asks, bewildered. “Ah. The sheriff. Yeah, _that_ sheriff, sure.” When Castiel only scowls harder, Dean grins at him. “I’m kidding, man. We came here after we talked with the sheriff, obviously.”

“Something’s not right,” Castiel murmurs.

“I swear, Cas. This is actually where we got the burgers!”

“No, I mean— Generally. Something isn’t right in general.” Castiel meets Dean’s wide eyes, his face serious. “I have no idea what happened, Dean, but something is blocking my powers here. I was literally transported into _the river_ ,” he pauses, searches Dean’s face for a few seconds, and then adds, “and you don’t even care.”

“I care,” Dean says, quiet, and steps closer. “But I know as much as you do, man. Do you think something that killed Sally is now affecting—”

“I’m not sure anything actually killed Sally,” Castiel says. “Not anything supernatural, at least.”

Dean’s eyes widen almost comically. “What then?”

Castiel shrugs. “A killer? One of her friends?” Castiel shakes his head. “Maybe she did it herself.”

“Why would she do this?” Dean blinks. “She was happy here.”

“How do you know?” Castiel asks, frowning up at him. “She was having problems with her boyfriend, her friends clearly didn’t like her very much and liked to tease her. Maybe she wanted to get out of here.”

“But this is a great town,” Dean says.

“You really think that?” Castiel asks, puzzled. When Dean only nods, he steps closer, now even more concerned. “But it’s barely alive. Look around, Dean. The last person we saw was Adam, and it was over six hours ago. Nothing happens here.”

“Oh, things happen,” Dean says. “Maybe we just don’t see them.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Castiel murmurs, and he reaches out and puts a hand on Dean’s arm. “And I think this town has been affecting you, too.”

“Shut up,” Dean laughs. “No, it hasn’t.”

Castiel feels him leaning into his touch, feels his eyes on him. He looks up, searching Dean’s face for any sign that would show him there really is something wrong with Dean, but he looks quite normal, if not even better from up close. 

“I swear I’m okay, Cas,” Dean whispers, and his breath is warm against Castiel chilled skin. “And if there’s something here, we need to find it and kill it. That’s why we’re here, right? To hunt?”

“Yes,” Castiel murmurs. He’s still cold and he doesn’t have it in himself to refuse Dean’s proximity and his warmth as he slowly leans into him. Castiel feels his own fingers squeeze Dean’s arm, seeking comfort. “But how do we do that?”

“I’m not sure, yet,” Dean says. “But we’ll find a way, we always do. Sam will think of something. Are you cold, Cas?”

Castiel looks up, slowly, meeting Dean’s gaze. Their faces are so close all of a sudden, Dean’s skin strangely pale in the streetlight, but with the same splattering of freckles Castiel knows so well.

“I did fall into a river in the middle of the night,” he says with a tiniest of smiles. “So yes, I am a little cold.”

Dean blinks, very slow, still peering down at him. One of his arms comes up and his hand touches Castiel’s hip.

“We should get back,” he says. “Think about this tomorrow morning.”

Castiel nods wordlessly and starts to move, but Dean’s eyes stop him, making his knees weak and his throat dry. 

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, and his gaze drops to Castiel’s lips, “can I kiss you?”

Castiel wants to respond; he opens his mouth but no sound escapes, he can’t nod, too caught up in Dean’s closeness. But he lets his fingers move, just barely, and tighten around Dean’s arm, and then Dean’s hand on his hip is pulling him closer, towards his warmth and his eyes and his lips.

Castiel’s eyes slip closed when he feels Dean’s lips on his own, the touch featherlight, almost shy. Dean’s arm moves around his shoulders, his fingers slipping onto his neck and into his hair as the kiss continues. It pulls a shaky gasp out of Castiel, almost involuntarily, and it takes him a long while to finally remember to kiss back. 

When he does, Dean seems to come alive in his arms. His grip on Castiel’s body tightens and he kisses with more certainty, pushing against his lips with gentle confidence. Castiel opens up eagerly and Dean sighs into his mouth and lets his tongue sneak in.

A loud crash makes them pull apart, Castiel gasping and opening his eyes, feeling a sudden burning somewhere on his lower back. His head whips around and he notices the abandoned shopping cart, which they must have just crashed into, rolling away with the gleam of the streetlight on its silver frame. Castiel hears Dean’s quiet laugh and he turns to look at him.

“That was scary,” he huffs with a grin.

Castiel notices his lips are reddened, but before he can react in any way, another freezing breeze makes him shiver and wrap his arms around his body. Dean clearly notices it, because he stops laughing and nods towards the Impala, still parked nearby.

“Come on,” he says with a fond smile. “Let’s go back.”

***

It’s strange in the car with Dean. Castiel, slumped against the door in the passenger seat, glances at him from time to time, his head full of thoughts, most of them confused and chaotic. He thinks of his wings, of the cold river, of the strange town; of Sally and Sarah and the woman who told them the girl deserved it; of Sam, who’s probably still deep in his sleep; of Dean right beside him, of his lips, and the feel of his fingers in Castiel’s hair.

He thinks of Dean who meets his eyes and sends him a tiny smile as he drives, who reaches out and shyly takes his hand when they stop at a red light, even though there’s no other car in sight. Dean lets go of him when the light changes, but Castiel spends the rest of the drive looking at him in the darkness of the car and thinking of nothing but him.

Dean parks the Impala in front of the motel and they get out quietly. Castiel moves towards his room and Dean follows him, and when they both stop at the door, Dean leans in and kisses him softly, their eyes closed and the fingers of Dean’s right hand gently clutching Castiel’s left hand.

Dean breathes warmly against his lips when they break apart.

“This feels so real,” he murmurs.

Castiel opens his eyes, slowly. “It is,” he says with the smallest of frowns. 

Dean moves away, something sad in the smile he sends him. “Yeah, Cas,” he says and brushes Castiel’s palm with his thumb as he takes his hand back. “It is.”

He turns away and disappears inside his room before Castiel has the chance to kiss him again to prove it.

***

“I was thinking maybe we could investigate the woman we met yesterday when we talked to Adam,” Castiel says as soon as Sam opens the door to greet him.

Sam is dishevelled but wearing clothes, so Castiel assumes he hasn’t woken him. It’s after nine anyway — they have slept long enough.

“Okay,” Sam says with a wistful look over his shoulder. “Sure, let’s go.”

“Is—” Castiel coughs, rubs a hand over his neck, almost certain Sam can see the flush on his face. “Is Dean here?”

He spent what remained of the previous night staring at the ceiling and constantly catching himself with a soft smile on his face, the feeling of Dean’s lips against his still alive in his mind. It did feel a bit unreal after Dean disappeared behind the closed door of his room, but the thought of him kept making him lightheaded anyway.

“He’s still asleep,” Sam says with a chuckle. “Lucky bastard.”

“Oh.” Castiel looks down at his shoes, feeling a tiny smile turning the corner of his lips. “Let him sleep, then. He didn’t really sleep all that much last night.”

Sam holds up a hand and walks back into the room. Castiel watches as he picks up a jacket, his badge, and car keys, and then his gaze slides towards Dean’s bed. There’s not much visible from under the covers, but Castiel spies the top of Dean’s head propped on his pillow, as well as one of his hands casually hanging off the mattress. Then, Sam blocks his view, pushes him out, and closes the door.

“Why?” he asks as he locks the room.

Castiel needs a moment to remember the topic of their conversation.

“I discovered I can’t access some of my powers yesterday night,” he says as they head towards the Impala. “I tried flying and ended up in the river instead.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Wow, that’s crazy!”

Castiel glares. “Yes, it is. But it isn’t funny, Sam.”

Sam tries to school his features into something more serious, but he still looks mostly amused. Castiel scowls at him over the hood of the car.

“Sam,” Castiel says, “can’t you see something’s not right here?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “that’s why we’re here. We’ve got a case to solve.”

Castiel sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not so sure this is the problem we should be focusing on.” 

They both get into the car and Castiel spends a few minutes trying to come up with the best way to explain the situation to Sam.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Sam asks.

Castiel frowns. “Let’s try the store first. Maybe Adam will know where we can find the woman.” When Sam nods and starts the engine, Castiel turns to him slowly. “Listen, Sam. I don’t think Sally was killed by a monster.”

Sam raises his brows at him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think there’s a case here,” Castiel says, “at least not the one we originally found. But something _is_ going on here, and we need to find out what it is before things get too strange.”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“For starters,” Castiel says, “I don’t have my powers and I can’t seem to fly out of this town. And when we ask people about Sally, they give very strange answers that often contradict one another.”

“That’s normal, Cas,” Sam huffs. “Someone has to be a suspect, you know.”

“But that’s not it,” Castiel mutters. “People change Sally’s name when they talk about her, as if they didn’t really care even though they claim to be her friends. You did it yourself, too, Sam.”

“I told you,” Sam says and Castiel sees him rolling his eyes as he drives. “You must have heard wrong. I did not forget the victim’s name.”

Castiel doesn’t comment — he knows it makes no sense to argue about it. Instead, he says, “The town itself is weird, too. Last night it seemed completely deserted. We didn’t meet a living soul last night.”

“Maybe because it was the middle of the night and people were in their beds?” Sam counters.

“That’s another thing,” Castiel says. “People seem to be sleeping so much in this town, you and Dean included.”

Something passes through Sam’s face, Castiel is sure of it, but it’s gone too soon for him to even consider what it may mean.

“Well, we’re humans, you know,” Sam says casually. “We don’t have your angelic powers.”

“Dean usually sleeps four to five hours a night,” Castiel states. “Here, he sleeps ten. Don’t tell me it’s not weird.”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I feel fine. If something’s affecting all of us, why do we feel okay?”

“Maybe you just can’t tell. Maybe you think you feel fine but…”

“Honestly, Cas, I’d know if I felt strange,” Sam mutters. He sounds a little upset, so Castiel sighs and drops the topic for now, too confused and unsure to argue about it. Maybe if Dean joined them — and told Sam about how still the night was yesterday, how he believes Castiel when he feels something is off…

Soon, they stop in front of the same store they visited yesterday and get out of the car. There are no other cars parked in front of it, but when they get inside, Castiel is surprised to see at least four different people walking among the shelves. Sam doesn’t seem to notice it, though, heading straight for the cash register where they can see Adam playing on his phone.

“Hi,” Sam says, not wasting any time. 

“Oh,” Adam looks up and squints at them. “It’s you.”

“We wanted to ask you something,” Castiel says.

“I told you everything I know, I swear,” Adam starts, making a face at them.

Sam shakes his head. “It’s okay, we know. But listen, my partner here,” he gestures towards Castiel, “was wondering whether you could tell us anything more about the weird lady that was here yesterday.”

“Oh, Ms. Mouseman? Yeah, she’s crazy, dude, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“For example, do you know where she lives?” Castiel asks.

“Somewhere in woods, I think. I’m not sure,” Adam says with a frown. “But I’m _pretty_ sure you can find her at Hoffmann’s Diner.”

***

The diner looks a bit like every other diner in America — a row of booths, floor-mounted stools in front of a long counter, a variety of enamel decorations on the walls. A waitress refilling a customer’s coffee cup is wearing the usual, light-coloured uniform paired with a bored expression and red lipstick. An old jukebox stands in the corner, emitting the low, dreamy sound of an unknown song.

Sam elbows Cas in the side. 

“Look who’s here,” he stage-whispers and points to one of the booths.

Instead of the strange woman, Ms. Mouseman, Castiel notices two of the high school girls he and Dean talked with yesterday. Before he can think it through, Sam drags him towards the girls.

“Hi,” Sam says and slides into the seat beside one of the teenagers.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “We don’t know anything, agent.”

“Why aren’t you at school?” Sam asks with a raised brow.

“Because it’s Saturday?” the other girl answers.

Sam huffs out a surprised laugh and looks up, noticing that Castiel is still standing and staring at him. He frowns and shifts in his seat.

“Agent?” he asks with a pointed look.

Castiel clears his throat. “How do you know these girls?” 

Sam gapes. “What?”

“You’ve never met them,” Castiel explains slowly. “You went to talk with the parents while Dean and I visited the school.”

“I.” Sam blinks, casts a glance at the girl on the seat in front of him. “Well, yeah, I know. But she was a close friend of Sally, and I recognised her from the photo I saw at Sally’s house.”

The girl in question raises her head at Castiel and nods. “Sally was my best friend,” she says quietly. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“But—” Castiel gestures towards the second girl, the one that spoke out first. “She recognised _you_ as an agent.”

“No,” the girl says scathingly, “I recognised _you_.”

Castiel is at a loss for words for a moment, simply watching as Sam talks with the girls, failing to catch any of the words. He is almost sure the girl addressed Sam as if she had seen him before — plus, the story of Sam recognising the girl from the photograph seems very far-fetched. Instead of saying anything, though, Castiel simply looks around, searching for Ms. Mouseman.

He spots another woman instead — this one wearing a tan uniform with a golden badge pinned to her chest and her dark curly hair tied at the top of her head. She’s sitting in the booth next to them and Castiel walks towards her almost unconsciously, ignoring Sam’s calls.

“Hello,” Castiel greets uncertainly when he stops beside her. She looks up at him from the plate full of pie and sends him a quizzical look.

“Agent,” she says and holds out her hand. “Glad to finally meet you.”

“You know me?” Castiel frowns.

“Well, yeah.” She grins at him. “Your colleagues told me all about you when we met. How’s the case going?”

“Dreadfully,” Castiel murmurs. “Are you… the sheriff?”

“Well, yeah,” the woman says with another grin.

Castiel turns towards Sam and the girls, mindless of the way he can feel more and more people looking at him from their seats all around the diner.

“When you met with the sheriff,” Castiel says, “he was a man.”

Sam laughs incredulously. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes,” Castiel repeats, “he was. When you talked to me about it, he was a man. I’m sure of it.”

“Cas,” Sam starts, getting up from his booth, “honestly, I think something’s not right with your—”

“No,” Castiel says and shakes his head. “No. It’s not. It’s not.”

“Hey, easy, pal,” the sheriff says gently. “Maybe you misheard—”

“I did not mishear anything,” Castiel says. “I don’t know what’s happening, but everything is wrong. You shouldn’t know these girls, Sam, but you do.” Castiel points at the booth Sam vacated. “And they know you. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t talk with the sheriff that first day — Dean mentioned you visited the supermarket while you were out. Yet, somehow, she knows you. And she knows me.”

Castiel turns to look at the sheriff, trying to figure it out, but then his gaze catches another sight just over the sheriff’s shoulder — Ms. Mouseman, the woman in the sweater, looking straight at him. When their eyes meet, the woman nods and walks out of the diner.

“Excuse me,” Castiel murmurs and, ignoring everyone around him, rushes out after the woman.

***

It takes him a few minutes to locate her. He finds her standing on the edge of the parking lot, in the shadow cast by the tall firs, and she keeps looking at him as he moves towards her, uncertain.

“Hello,” he says. “Ms. Mouseman?”

“You’ve got questions, don’t you,” the woman asks as she squints at him. When Castiel nods, she shakes her head with a tiny smile. “I can’t answer them.”

“Surely you can at least help me solve some of them,” Castiel says, trying to sound calm. “You said the girl deserved to die.”

“Oh, no,” the woman says. “I never said that.”

“Please, Ms. Mouseman.” Castiel can feel his hands curling into fists by his sides. “Do not try to tell me I misheard, again. I’m getting really fed up with it.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” she answers with a smirk. “But I never said she _deserved_ to die, just that she _had no other choice_.”

Castiel looks at her for a long moment, thinking it through. When she doesn’t look away, he asks, “Why?”

“She knew too much, obviously,” the woman says with a shrug. “She was starting to figure everything out.”

“Everything? What does _everything_ mean?” Castiel takes one small step towards her, but when she jerks, skittish, he stops and holds up his hands. “Ms. Mouseman, please. I know you know something.”

“I think you do, too,” she says, tilting her head. “Or, at least, you’re close to figuring it out.”

“It’s—” He stops, bites his lip. She still doesn’t look away, as if curious what he can come up with. “It’s somehow connected to sleep, isn’t it? They all sleep… a lot.”

“They do, indeed,” Ms. Mouseman says with another nod. 

“They lie a lot, too,” Castiel says grimly.

“No.” She shakes her head. “They just choose not to tell the truth.”

Castiel grimaces. “It’s the same, isn’t it? To lie and not to tell the truth?” 

“People like stories,” the woman says looking away with a smile on her lips. “Stories, colourful dreams, something to get their minds off the boring reality they’re forced to live in. I’m not surprised they all fall for that. Everyone that comes here falls for that… everyone except you.”

“I’m different,” he murmurs. “It’s not important. So why aren’t you like them?”

Ms. Mouseman chuckles and grins. “Who told you I’m not?”

Castiel scowls. “Please. I really don’t like riddles.”

“Sorry,” the woman says. “I can’t help you.”

“Yes, you can!” Castiel’s hand shoots up and he grabs the woman by the wrist. “Please, just tell me—”

She pushes him off before he can finish the thought. “No. I can’t help you,” she repeats woodenly.

“Is there something here that affects people?” Castiel asks. “Some kind of a monster, a creature, a god?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ms. Mouseman says, taking a step back towards the trees. “I don’t live here.”

Castiel inhales. “You don’t live in the town.”

She smirks at him. 

“Is the town affecting people? Why?” Castiel asks, but the woman doesn’t answer, just keeps smiling and retreating into the woods. “Does it happen when they sleep? Does the town make them lie, or kill other people?”

“Dreams are safe, you know,” she says. “Dreams protect you because anything can happen in a dream. Once you wake up, you end up in a river, without a heart, without a throat. It’s not safe in real life.”

Castiel’s throat feels dry. “Sally Wright. She knew what was happening so they killed her,” he croaks. “But they’re… not asleep now.”

“What if,” Ms. Mouseman say, and now it’s just her voice that Castiel can hear, the rest of her invisible among the dark trees, “they _think_ they are?”

Suddenly, Castiel remembers Dean’s words from last night — ‘This feels so real’ — and his pained smile when Castiel reassured him that yes, it was real, they really did just kiss, finally, after all these years. He thinks of Sam and Dean being so eager to go to bed every night, as if they couldn’t wait for something glorious and extraordinary that was about to happen while they slept. He thinks of the town at night, with no one awake, with all the doors closed and the curtains drawn. He thinks of all decaying plants, the bored, sleepy faces, the graffiti on the wall — ‘This is hell and we can’t leave’. What if everyone really was under some kind of a spell that convinced them nothing is real, that nothing that happens in real life matters or has any consequences? Lying and killing a friend — a _daughter_ — won’t matter if you think it’s a part of a dream. It won't matter after you _wake up in the real world_.

The town, or something in it, doesn’t allow him to leave because he knows — because it can’t fool him like it’s fooling everyone else around him. He’s an angel, he’s not a human — which means he _doesn’t sleep_. It certainly explains why he felt so bad as soon as they entered the town — and all those times after that.

“Who _are_ you?” he asks loudly, but when he looks around, Ms. Mouseman is gone.

***

Castiel pushes open the door to the Winchesters’ room and walks inside, slow and watchful. He doesn’t really know what to expect, but only when he sees Dean, seated on his bed with his computer in his lap, does he breathes out, relieved.

Dean’s head snaps up when he hears him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets quietly. Dean doesn’t answer, his face a pale shade of blue as the light from the computer screen illuminates it. Castiel realises it’s very dark in the room, the curtains drawn shut and all the lights off. When he looks back at Dean to ask him about it, he pushes the laptop off his lap and straightens up on the bed.

“Cas, can we talk?”

Castiel freezes. Even in the light of what he has just learned, hearing those words from Dean’s mouth makes his insides twist unpleasantly, as if he was expecting a blow — if not a physical one, then certainly one that could make his heart ache.

He swallows, finally, and looks Deans in the eyes. “Of course.”

Dean sends him a small smile. It almost looks shy.

“Sit down,” Dean murmurs, nodding towards the unoccupied bed in front of him. “You might need it.”

Throat dry and knees shaky, Castiel perches on the edge of Sam’s bed and slowly meets Dean’s gaze. Dean looks back for a moment, but then he grunts uncomfortably and hangs his head low, hand coming up to rub at the side of his neck. It’s too dark in the room for Castiel to see his face properly, but he has a strange feeling Dean might be blushing.

“Dean, are you… okay?” he asks hesitantly, when the silence seems to be lasting too long.

He thinks he sees Dean bite down on his lip as his palm continue to rub at his skin anxiously. 

“I’m— I’m not sure,” he stutters finally. He looks up, slowly, and now Castiel is certain, even in the darkness of the room, that his face is flushed. “Cas, do you— do you remember— uh, last night?”

Dread settles in Castiel’s stomach and he feels his cold hands grip the edge of the mattress. “What about it?”

“Uh.” Dean clears his throat, looks down again. “But you do remember it, right? Everything that happened after you, uh, called me?”

“Dean.” Castiel can feel his stomach twisting, his breath getting quicker as he realises what Dean is trying to say. In the light of what Ms. Mouseman has told him — that everyone in this town is convinced they are dreaming and that they may be doing things they wouldn't do otherwise — he now starts to see the events of last night quite differently. He stares at Dean, his entire body frozen in shock. “Dean, I am— so, so sorry. I had no idea. I— I knew something was wrong but I swear—”

“You had no idea?” Dean asks, and then frowns. “About what?”

“I—” Castiel pauses. “The kiss. And, well, the dreams.”

Dean’s cheeks turn darker, but he keeps looking at Castiel. “Cas, what— what do you know about the dreams?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “What do _you_ know about the dreams?”

“I’m not really sure,” Dean says, and he sounds uncertain again. “I think I’m going kinda crazy.”

“How do you mean?” Castiel asks and, before he can’t stop himself, he leans towards Dean.

Dean just looks at him for a moment. “I think— This is really fucked up, Cas. I’m not sure you’re gonna believe me.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Try me.”

“Okay. Okay, then.” Dean takes a breath. “Uh, so, last night. When we, uh— when we kissed.”

“I remember,” Castiel says quietly, searching Dean’s face for any sign of discomfort or anger — but he only looks a bit confused and thoughtful.

“Good,” Dean says quickly, then looks down. “Me too. But that’s not the point, Cas. It felt very real,” Dean murmurs, almost too quiet for Castiel to hear, “and I realised, after we came back here, that it… it was real.”

“It _was_ real,” Castiel whispers.

“I know that, I think,” Dean says and Castiel feels another wave of coldness gripping at his insides, but he lets Dean talk for now. “No, wait. I’m sure I know it. And I’m also sure this, right now, is real too.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything.

“But you know what’s the weirdest part?” Dean asks, thoughtful, and he meets Castiel’s eyes. “I’m also realising that, for the last two days, I have been really fucking certain that nothing that is happening in this town is real.”

“You thought you were only dreaming,” Castiel says.

Dean’s eyes go wild. “How do you know? Have you— felt it too?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. But I know you have, or maybe you still are.”

“I’m not,” Dean says vehemently, and suddenly he reaches out and grips Castiel’s hand. “I know it’s not a dream, Cas. And that’s why I’m so confused.” He pauses, his fingers tightening around Castiel’s hand. “Cas, what the fuck is going on here?”

Castiel swallows. “This is what I’m trying to figure out,” he says. “But I think you’re not the only one feeling this way.”

“What about you? Why aren’t you affected?” Dean asks. “Is it because of the angel thing?”

Castiel sends him a small smile. “Most likely, yes. Plus, I don’t sleep.”

Dean sends him a quizzical look. 

“I think it happens when you sleep at night,” Castiel explains. “Have you noticed you’ve been getting a lot of sleep recently? My guess would be that the thing that’s affecting you does that when you’re asleep.”

“Like a djinn,” Dean murmurs. “Creating a false reality and all that.”

Castiel blinks. “Exactly. I haven’t really thought about it like that—”

Suddenly, the door to the room opens, letting in daylight that’s quickly blocked by Sam’s tall figure.

“Hi, guys,” he greets cheerfully. “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?”

Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand and looks up at his brother. “I tried calling you before. Where have you been?”

“What, really?” Sam, busy pulling the curtains open and letting in the light, glances at them over his shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t hear you call. And I _thought_ you were sleeping.”

Dean winces. “No. No sleeping.” He meets Castiel’s eyes, just for a small moment, and then stands up and walks towards the fridge. “Breakfast?”

“Dude, it’s like afternoon,” Sam snorts.

“Late breakfast?” Dean asks, sounding angry and sending his brother an annoyed look.

“I could eat,” Sam says, shrugging. He walks over to where Castiel is still sitting and reaches for the laptop on Dean’s bed. He meets Castiel’s eyes and gives him a long, calculating look. “Hiya, Cas, what’s up?” he asks brightly, even though his gaze seems strangely cold. 

“Sam, put that back,” Dean grouses from where he’s putting together a couple of sandwiches. When Sam looks back at him, surprised, he nods towards the laptop. “The computer. Put it back.”

“Why? I need to check—”

“No.” Dean says. “We need to talk.”

***

“Sorry,” Sam says, unimpressed, “are you trying to convince me that you think _I believe_ that this,” he waves a hand around his head, “is a dream?”

“Don’t you?” Castiel asks, eyeing Sam from across the table.

Sam lets out a surprised laugh. “Why would I? Do you even hear yourself?” He looks over at Dean and raises a brow. “Dean. Come on.”

There’s something in this look, however, that makes Castiel look from one brother to the other, as he tries to hear a silent conversation between them. This time, though, Dean breaks eyes contact with Sam and looks over at Castiel, frowning.

“He needs to lie,” Dean mutters. “We all pretended everything’s normal because…” He doesn’t finish, just looks back at Sam. “Isn’t that right?”

Sam shakes his head slowly, worry starting to show on his face. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “What happened, Dean? You know the truth.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean says. “The truth is, we’re not dreaming.”

“Dean,” Sam whispers, leaning over the table towards his brother. “Stop this. This isn’t funny.”

“I know,” Dean grumbles.

Sam casts a careful glance at Castiel, but looks away as soon as he meets his eyes. “I think you’re just tired, Dean. Just… _go to sleep_.”

“The sleep is where it all happens,” Castiel speaks up. “Which is why neither of you is going to sleep anytime soon. At least not until we leave this town.”

“We can’t leave,” Dean says, straightening up and looking at Castiel with a frown. “Not yet. We need to solve this shit.”

“It may be too dangerous,” Castiel says. ”We should leave, or at least try to leave, and come back after we—”

“Cas, no,” Dean interrupts. “That’s out of the question.”

Castiel opens his mouth to argue, to try to convince Dean they are not safe here, but then Sam speaks up.

“If you guys think something is not right here…” He casts a glance at his brother, who nods grimly, and then at Castiel. “Then I think we should stay. We’ll see who’s right.”

“You need to stay awake for some time, then,” Castiel says.

Sam shrugs and stands up, heading towards his bed and reaching for his laptop. Castiel meets Dean’s eyes.

“It’s gonna be a long night.”

***

At three in the morning, Sam starts to break.

“Hey,” Dean grunts from where he’s seated in a chair across from Castiel. When Castiel looks up from Dean’s laptop, he sees Dean glaring at his brother.

“‘M awake,” Sam mumbles. He’s slumped against the headboard of his bed, the laptop sliding off his legs. 

“Yeah, right.” Dean rubs a hand across his face. Castiel notices he’s got deep shadows under his eyes, the result of too little sleep for two nights in a row. He wishes there was something he could do — but there’s not, or at least not yet. “ _Sam!_ ” Dean yells, which makes both Sam and Castiel jolt. The laptop falls off Sam’s lap and his head thumps against the headboard. 

“What?”

“Stay awake,” Castiel says.

“Ugh,” Sam grouses. “It’s hard, you know. I’m not all… _angelic_ , not like you are.”

“Dean isn’t either, and he’s alright,” Castiel says and looks over at Dean, who blinks at him, a bit owlishly, and then quickly looks down at John Winchester’s journal open in front of him. 

“That’s because he’s busy ogling you,” Sam grumbles sleepily.

Castiel glances back at Dean, but his eyes are still glued to the journal. He tries not to analyse Sam’s words or the faint blush that’s still visible on Dean’s face. 

“Just stay awake,” Castiel says back, then stands up and walks towards the kitchen area. Sam must have drunk at least three cups of coffee over the course of the night, so Castiel decides to give him some sweet soda to boost his energy levels. He throws Sam a can and then gently puts another one in front of Dean. “Drink this.”

“I’m fine,” Dean mumbles without looking up.

Castiel watches him for a few seconds, noticing the slow and tired way Dean blinks, his eyelashes sweeping over his cheeks with each flicker. He lets out a heavy sigh and reaches out to pluck the journal out of Dean’s hands.

“Hey,” Dean reacts softly and looks up at Castiel, confused. Castiel looks into his bloodshot eyes and sends him a small smile. 

“Reading tires you out,” he says, closes the journal, and puts it down on the table, out of Dean’s reach. “Let’s talk.”

“Huh?” Dean mumbles.

“Come on,” Castiel takes Dean’s hand, squeezes, and tugs. Dean stands up and follows him towards the beds where Sam’s eyes are closed and his head is lolling onto one of his shoulders. “Sam,” Castiel calls.

Both of them flop down onto the bed Sam is occupying, jolting the younger brother out of his snooze. 

“What’s up,” Sam slurs, blinking to keep his eyes open.

“I want you to tell me more about your dreams,” Castiel says. “About the world you thought was real. How did it look? What happened there?”

Sam groans. “Can we go out? I’ll nod off if I stay on this bed any longer.”

“That’s a good idea,” Castiel agrees, and they relocate outside of the room, leaning against the motel wall and breathing in the chilly night air. It seems to be working because soon the Winchesters look more alert and much less tired than a few minutes before. Dean, standing just beside Castiel, turns his head towards him and speaks up first.

“It was always the same,” he says. “Every night, the same. But nothing really happened there.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It didn’t feel weird, though. We just… We were here, in town, trying to solve the case. Now that I think of it, some of the things seem… really, really weird. They don’t really make a lot of sense, you know? It’s like when you dream about something and it seems alright, but then you wake up and you realise it’s all nonsense.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Castiel says. “I barely had any dreams back when I was human for a while.”

They all stay quiet for a moment, and Castiel doesn’t look at either of the brothers, waiting for them to gather their thoughts and continue. 

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, really,” Sam finally says, a bit awkward. “Nothing comes to my mind. Nothing happened in those dreams. Unless… Dean, can you think of something?”

“No,” Dean says. “Like you said. Kind of boring, day-to-day shit.”

Castiel looks between them. “Did you… always have the same dreams?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “We always met there. You know, I guess it… it had to feel like real life, right?” he says, still a bit hesitant. Castiel knows the signs of the hypnosis are wearing off, but everything still must seem fuzzy to both of them, Sam especially. “We had to believe it was real.”

“And now, that you think of it,” Castiel asks, “can you remember if anything was different from the real life here? From what you used to think was a dream?”

Sam and Dean look at each other, frowns on their faces.

“Was there something that isn’t here, in this town, now? Or maybe something was missing from the dream world?” he asks. “Something, or someplace, or someone, or—”

“Actually,” Sam says, but then pauses. Castiel looks up at him, curious, but Sam is looking at Dean. 

“What?” Castiel asks and turns towards Dean.

Dean looks back at him steadily and licks his lips. “You weren’t there.”

Castiel blinks. “Oh.”

“Probably because you weren’t dreaming,” Sam says. “Right? You couldn’t be there because you never joined us in the dream.”

Castiel ignores him. “Where… where did you think I was?” he asks, quiet. “In the dream?”

Dean shrugs and looks away. “Dunno.”

Something unpleasant twists at Castiel’s insides. “But you did know me in the dream, didn’t you? I existed there?”

“Yeah!” Sam hurries. “Yeah, of course. But you were just… away. I think. We must have thought you were up in Heaven or something, probably busy.”

Busy. Away. And yet, it felt real to both of them — too real to ever question it. 

Realistically, Castiel knows that it isn’t their fault, that something made them believe the dream was real, even without Castiel in it. And yet, it stings. 

Sam tries to say something else, but Castiel waves a hand at him. “It’s alright,” he says. “I understand.”

“You’re often not here,” Sam mutters guiltily. “And we—”

“Like you said,” Castiel says. “I couldn’t join you because I don’t sleep.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. Castiel asks if they remember anything else, but they shake their heads, silent. Soon, Sam mutters something about coffee and disappears inside the room, leaving Dean and Castiel alone in the dark.

“We didn’t choose it,” Dean says, barely audible. Castiel looks at the side of his face, his eyes hidden as he keeps looking down. “We didn’t decide what to dream about, or who to dream about.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel says, because what else is there to say it? There’s a part of him that’s sad but there’s nothing he can do about it. This is his reality: the Winchesters are so used to him being away that it doesn’t surprise them when he doesn’t appear in their perfect dream world.

“It’s not,” Dean grunts. “It didn’t feel right. I mean, okay, it did, but only because it had to feel right. But afterwards… You were here when we woke up and I kept thinking, where are you? And why aren’t you with us? You should be with us.”

Castiel keeps his eyes on Dean’s face as a thought appears in his head. “So when you met me everyday, the last couple of days…” He swallows, then starts again. “When you met me here, you thought it was just a dream.”

Dean doesn’t look at him when he nods.

“Was that why you behaved like that?” Castiel asks. Dean sends him a confused look. “You behaved a bit differently. You… you sent me emoticons.”

Dean huffs out a surprised laugh. “And that was suspicious?”

“You never behave like that towards me,” Castiel admits. “Not really.”

“Those were just emoticons, Cas,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“You sat really close. You called me ‘angel’.” Castiel breathes in. “You kissed me.”

Dean’s eyes are back on his in a second. “I wasn't dreaming then.”

Castiel realises he’s shaking his head and moving away when Dean’s hand catches his arm and stops him.

“You thought it wasn't real,” Castiel says.

“I was confused, yeah,” Dean says, staring straight into Castiel’s eyes, his grip hard and sure. “I just woke up and it felt… really weird. But _I_ _was awake_ , Cas, okay?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he keeps looking at Castiel. “I knew what I was doing.”

“What if—”

“No, there are no ‘what ifs’,” Dean says, and he sounds so certain, Castiel has no choice but to believe him. “If you’re worried about my consent or something, _don’t_. It was my decision.”

“But you thought me being here was a dream,” Castiel murmurs. “You didn’t believe I could actually be here, with you, for you—”

“Cas, please,” Dean says, and his voice is even more quiet now, a barely-there whisper that makes Castiel’s skin tingle. “I wanted it.”

Castiel nods tersely, but looks down, unsure. Dean shuffles closer and suddenly his fingers touch Castiel’s chin, tipping his head up and forcing him to look at him.

“I’m awake now,” Dean says. “I’m sure of it.”

Castiel stays quiet, hypnotised by the way Dean's eyes reflect the streetlight. He can feel Dean’s warm skin against his jaw and he sways closer, barely aware of the movement. Dean dips his head down, slowly, and the tip of his nose brushes Castiel’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers.

“Don’t be.” Castiel’s hands come up and grab Dean’s shirt even before he can realise he’s moving. “None of this is your fault. If there’s someone that should be sorry, it’s me. I’m the one that keeps disapp—”

Dean kisses him before he can finish the sentence. 

It’s soft and chaste, slow touches of lips against lips, an exchange of breaths, a meeting of gazes. Castiel lets out a small gasp when Dean pulls away and they keep looking at each other even when Dean reaches for his hands and twines their fingers together. They don’t talk; it feels unreal even for Castiel, the night still and eerily quiet around them, the light dim, their heartbeats calm. Castiel moves forward and kisses Dean again, and Dean sighs into his mouth and pulls him closer. 

They keep kissing for the next few minutes, and Castiel’s insides are on fire, but it doesn’t feel dangerous; it feels warm and soothing, it feels like good coffee and sunrise and home. Dean’s fingers end up tangled in Castiel’s hair and Castiel has his hands on Dean’s hips.

“We should check on Sam,” Dean murmurs against the skin of Castiel’s cheek. “I bet he’s Mr. Comatose by now.”

Castiel nods, grips Dean by the hand, and tugs him back to the room. Fortunately, they find Sam more than awake and deep into research.

“I’m looking up dream creatures,” he says as they enter, and doesn’t say a word about their joined hands even if he notices it. “I know you must’ve already looked into that, Cas, but I just wanted to double check. You know. Different perspective and all that.”

Castiel nods, coming over to look at the laptop over Sam’s shoulder. Dean squeezes his hand and lets go, walking towards the kitchen instead.

“I actually haven’t researched all that much,” Castiel admits. “Most of what I know has come from Ms. Mouseman.”

“Who?” Sam asks, distracted with the article he’s skimming.

“The strange woman,” Castiel says. When both Sam and Dean look at him with raised eyebrows, Castiel adds, “We met her at the store, Sam, remember? Adam said she was crazy.”

“Ah,” Sam murmurs. “That woman.”

“Have I met her?” Dean asks, frowning, and then slurps at the coffee he’s just poured into his cup.

Castiel stops to think about it, but then Sam lets out a yelp and stand out so quickly, it makes Castiel jolt.

“Oh my God, guys,” Sam says. “That’s it! Dean has never met her because she’s never appeared in the dreams!”

***

The sun is rising when they cross the river and enter the woods.

Castiel’s stomach lurches but Dean seems to sense something is off because he tightens his grip on Castiel’s hand and keeps glancing at him as the three of them make their way through the trees where Castiel had seen Ms. Mouseman disappear last. Knowing she lives outside of the town, but not too far away, they walk around for a while. If she has a house somewhere around here, they’re bound to find it sooner or later.

‘Sooner or later’ comes after ten minutes of walking around.

“Guys,” Sam calls.

When Dean and Castiel turn towards his voice, they realise he has gone off in the other direction and they can’t even see him through the trees. He calls out again, though, and they quickly follow his voice, Dean’s fingers gripping Castiel’s hand tightly, giving him the courage he needs.

“What’ve you got?” Dean asks, his other hand sneaking inside his jacket for the knife Castiel knows he keeps there. 

“I think this might be it?” Sam says when they reach him, and he points across the tiny clearing to the small wooden cabin half-hidden behind huge pine trees. It looks like a house one would find in a fairytale, with a thatched roof, circular windows, and moss-covered walls. It’s more of a cottage than a house or a cabin, really, and Castiel feels a funny jolt in his stomach when they step into the clearing and head towards the building. It doesn’t look threatening or spooky, somehow, and Castiel wonders what awaits them inside.

Dean lets go of him when he grips the knife with his right hand. They creep forward, Sam with his gun held high and Castiel ready to draw the angel blade as soon as he sees any movement. Dean directs them — sends his brother to stand by at the back of the cottage and shows Castiel to keep close — and then walks towards the small door and slowly turns the knob.

The door flies open and both Dean and Castiel jump back. Ms. Mouseman is standing with her hand on the doorknob, her face hidden in the dimness of the house. It takes Dean a second to react — but then he moves again, pushes the woman back into her house, and pins her to the wall with the knife at her throat.

“Don’t even try to think about moving,” he hisses at her. Sam rushes forward and both he and Castiel follow Dean inside the house. Sam has to bend his head to be able to fit through the door, which he quickly closes and locks.

“Good morning to you too,” Ms. Mouseman manages, her eyes calm, sweeping between Dean, Castiel, and Sam. She doesn’t even look scared to have a six-foot man threatening to hurt her.

“You know why we’re here,” Sam says quietly. He has his gun pointed at the woman’s head. “Don’t you?”

“I’m surprised to see _you_ know why,” she says with a strange smile. “You shouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Let’s just say we had some help,” Dean says. He doesn’t look at Castiel, but Ms. Mouseman’s eyes flit to him, anyway. 

She smiles again.

“I knew you would figure it out.”

“You basically told him everything, didn’t you,” Sam says, eyebrows drawn. “You had to know he’d do something to help us.”

She nods, the blade in Dean’s hand pressing against the skin on her throat. Dean starts talking again, voice harsh and dangerous, but Castiel doesn’t hear him anymore, too caught up with the entirely too pleased look on the woman’s face.

“You _wanted_ me to tell them,” he says over Dean’s words. “You wanted us to react. Why?”

Dean glances at him over his shoulder, a frown on his face. “Cas, she’s the one that’s been doing this to us, she must be, she wasn’t in the dream—”

“You’re all right,” she says. “But in a wrong way.”

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and slowly drags him back, eyes glued to Ms. Mouseman’s face. Dean tries to protest, but Castiel’s grip is hard and he falls quiet, watching him with wide eyes.

“Talk,” Castiel says. “And please talk clearly this time.”

The woman smiles and rubs a hand over her throat. There’s no blood, but he still sends Dean a heated look. 

“Would you like some tea?” she asks casually.

“No,” Sam responds immediately. “Just tell us who you are and why you were doing this to us.”

“Alright,” Ms. Mouseman says, sighing. “Have you ever heard of the oneiroi?” 

Dean and Castiel both open their mouths to respond, but Sam is the first one to answer. “You’re a dream demon,” he says and Castiel watches as his grip tightens on the gun in his hand. “You feed off humans while they sleep, sending them good and bad dreams.”

“Someone has done their homework, good,” the woman says with a smirk. “But you’re not entirely right, my friend: I’m actually a demigod, not a demon.”

“Same difference for us, really,” Dean snarks.

“Not for me,” the oneiroi say. “I don’t like to be called a demon.”

“As if we care—”

Castiel reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm, squeezing it. Dean falls silent.

“You,” the woman says, ignoring Dean for now and turning to Sam. “You said I send people dreams. Do you think this is what has been happening here?”

Castiel watches as Sam and Dean share a look. 

“Uh, yeah?” Dean says. “This is literally what you’ve been doing. You have everyone convinced—”

“That they’re dreaming, even though they’re not,” Castiel finishes. “You’re supposed to be sending people dreams, not using hypnosis on them.”

Ms. Mouseman tilts her head at him, a pleased smile on her face. “You’re figuring it out again.”

“Can’t you talk plainly?” Dean says. He turns to Castiel. “What’s she saying?”

“She’s saying her magic isn’t working the way it’s supposed to,” Castiel says. “How long have you lived here, Ms. Mouseman?” he asks.

The oneiroi smiles. “Since the beginning. How do you think people around the world dream? We’re everywhere.”

“And you’re not the bad guys, are you?” Sam asks carefully. Castiel can see he has lowered his gun.

“Oh, look. This one’s clever too.”

Dean’s eyes are still stormy when he raises the hand that’s holding his knife. Castiel steps out in front of him, standing face to face with the demigod. 

“Do not tease us,” he says quietly. “I don’t like it.” When she closes her mouth and sends him a curious look, Castiel steps away and turns to the brothers. “I think what she’s trying to tell us is that there’s something else that’s been causing the problems.”

“It’s been here for a long time, too,” Ms. Mouseman says dreamily. “No longer than me, but longer than people. It’s disturbing my magic. Changing people.”

“What is it?”

She tilts her head, the strange smile back on her lips. “Search the river.”

***

“So that’s it,” Dean says as he’s pacing the room, a confused frown on his face. “We’re just gonna believe her and let her go.”

“She’s not the one doing this,” Sam mutters, eyes glued to his laptop.

“How do we know she’s not bluffing?” Dean asks.

“Because I’ve heard of the oneiroi,” Castiel murmurs and walks towards Dean, who stops in the middle of the room to just look at him. “They don’t have the powers to reverse dream and reality, or to make people believe anything like this.”

“Maybe this one does?” Dean asks, but he sounds uncertain.

“Then why would she tell Cas about it in the first place?” Sam asks. “I think she needs our help getting rid of whatever lives in the river.”

Dean keeps his eyes on Castiel. “Is this… why you felt sick when we searched the riverbank?” he asks slowly.

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t know, Dean. But the river keeps coming up, doesn’t it? The girl was found in the river…”

“You were there, too,” Dean says, and his eyes get wider. “That night when you tried to fly.”

“The rivers are said to block magic,” Sam mutters. “This one doesn’t block it, it… changes it. Reverses it.”

“Have you found anything?” Castiel asks and comes to stand beside the table where Sam scrolls through an article about water demons.

“Not yet,” Sam says.

Dean joins them, a look of concentration on his face. “What do we know about this town?” he asks.

Sam looks at him over his shoulder. “Uhh. Beside the fact that it doesn’t exist on maps?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “The sheriff in Leavenworth said it used to be one big town some time ago. Can we find anything about it?”

Sam’s fingers fly over the keyboard and soon he pulls up an article about the history of the town Leavenworth.

“They don’t even mention the other town,” Sam says, scanning the article quickly. “Nothing about Boulder Springs.”

“Anything about the river?” Dean asks.

“Uhmmm…”

Sam reads on, clicks through a few other articles. Castiel meets Dean’s eyes over Sam’s head and can see a new certainty in his gaze.

“Guys,” Sam says after some time. Castiel looks away from Dean and finds Sam’s excited face. “There it is. It says the course of the river had been altered to make room for the town when it ‘spread over two parts of the land’. Sounds like the Leavenworth-Boulder Springs breakup, doesn’t it?”

“So they needed space for the new town and they changed the course of the river. I think that’d be enough to make anything that lives underwater angry, don’t you?”

“The oneiroi said it was there before the humans,” Castiel muses. “Before any of the towns.”

“I think I know what it is,” Sam says, turns back to the laptop, and types ‘american water spirits’ into the browser.

***

It’s surprisingly easy, once they find out the truth.

Armed with blades and guns and a laptop, which Sam uses to read up on the water creatures, they drive the Impala to the riverbank while the sun climbs up towards high noon. Dean is gripping the wheel tightly, and he looks more focused and determined than he has since they’ve been in this town. 

“So, we don’t know what form the spirit will take,” Sam mutters, poring over another article. “It can end up being everything, from an incorporeal apparition to a… huge water snake, apparently.”

“After we kill it, I vote we go back to the woods and put a knife into the old lady’s heart, too,” Dean grouses. “Would it kill her to give us any more info?”

“We can’t kill her,” Castiel protests. “She’s been here for a long time.”

“And she said she didn’t exactly know what it is,” Sam says. “Just that’s it’s pretty old and lives in the water.”

“And is angry,” Castiel adds.

“Great,” Dean murmurs and takes a sharp turn.

The discussion dies right then because suddenly they reach the end of the path and Dean stops the car. They all sit motionless for a moment, and then the brothers share a look and get out of the car at the same time. The doors slam loudly as Castiel scrambles out of the backseat to join the Winchesters.

He's hit with a similar wave of nausea, and he sways on the spot, hand coming up to grip the car and lean on it. 

“Cas!” Dean is by his side within a few seconds, his broad hands touching his hip and the side of his neck.

“You okay?” Sam asks, voice strained.

“It's the same feeling again,” Castiel explains with difficulty, something unpleasant coiling in his stomach. He takes a shaky breath. “Hopefully it passes soon.”

“I don’t think it will,” Sam says carefully. “I think it will get even worse.”

“Sam,” Dean barks. “Shut up.”

Castiel lets go of the car and takes a small step forward, Dean’s hands hovering over him as he walks. His head is swimming, loud buzzing in his ears making it harder and harder to hear, but he thinks he knows what to do now. After a few more steps towards the river, Castiel can’t understand what Sam is saying any longer, but Dean’s hand is still warm and familiar on his own arm.

The closer he gets, the more he wishes he could lie down and roll into himself, a bitter taste in his mouth, his hands and legs shaking. He knows he’s sweating now and he must look terrible, because Dean wraps an arm around his middle and keeps him close as they make their way to the river.

“What are you doing?” Dean says quietly in his ear.

Castiel breathes in and out through his nose. “I’m supposed to stay away,” he says. “That’s why I… feel this way… It’s making me stay away.”

The only thing he can see now is the dark grey of the water right in front of them, but he feels Dean’s embrace tighten on him. “You’re doing the opposite,” he says.

“It will know I’m here,” Castiel whispers, and then he’s bending down in half, falling to his knees as Dean shouts in his ear and tries to catch him. Castiel can feel the hard ground under his hands and he heaves helplessly, a tight feeling in his throat and his stomach on fire. 

He hasn’t eaten anything in a long time, so he doesn’t throw up, but soon he ends up with his face against the ground, fingers tightening in the grass that surrounds them. He thinks he hears voices and shouts, and he feels strong hands on his body, but he doesn’t stand up, _can’t_ stand up, feels too weak and powerless to do so. It’s the opposite of being full of grace — it feels as if his grace was leaving him, oozing from every pore of his body, leaving his fingers numb and his head void.

Through a noise in his ears, he hears something — a loud whirring sound, a thud that makes the ground shake — and the hands disappear from his body. He falls to his side and curls in on himself, away from all the yelling and clamour. 

If this is how it feels to have all his power ripped out of him, he’d rather go back to being human again.

He clings to this thought now, thinks of how it is to _feel_ like a human. How it is to eat and drink with the Winchesters, to lie down in his own bed at the bunker from time to time, sipping coffee and watching TV. How it feels to look at Sam and Dean and feel at home — something he has never really felt in Heaven, even back when he barely knew human life. How it is to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed back. To love another person the way no angel should — the way _humans_ do.

He blinks his eyes open, slow and hazy. The pain and nausea are still here, but they’re dimmed now, pushed to the back corner of his being, the corner full of bright light and rustling feathers and neverending eyes. He’s still losing power, his grace is screaming — but his human body fights the sickness with all its weak, powerless strength.

He looks and sees Sam being thrown in the air and slammed back against the Impala with the giant bulk of a wet, sucker-covered body. He hears a gurgling roar and sits up just in time to watch as Dean flings himself at what looks like a huge mass of tentacles and water that sits in the middle of the ground between the trees and the river.

Castiel has a second to ponder the fact that cephalopods do not live in freshwater before Dean notices him, shouts his name, and then ends up smacked with one of the tentacles down to the ground. Castiel doesn’t even remember standing up and running over — but then he grabs a threatening appendage and slices at it with the angel blade he’s pulled out of his coat.

The monster howls again and flops towards him, and that’s when Castiel notices it’s not a real octopus — it lacks a head, or at least he can’t find it in the tangle of tentacles that stretch to catch him. He cuts at it again, jumps to the side to hurt another arm, and another, and another, and then Sam appears beside him and shoots repeatedly into the centre of the tentacled mess.

The monster gurgles and flops away, back towards the river. Castiel hears a shout and realises it’s his own voice — then he jumps forward, catches one of the appendages and drags it back onto the ground before it can slink into to river. 

“We need to—” he begins, but then he’s immobilised and he’s falling to the ground again, the heavy and wet muscles rolling around his legs and chest and neck, crushing him and cutting off his air. There’s nothing he can do — no human would be able to free themselves from this murderous grip, and he can’t use his powers without feeling like dying again.

He feels a slimy touch on his face and he closes his eyes and wants to scream — but then it all stops. He looks up to the sky and Dean is there, blocking the sun and standing with a long blade in his raised arms, the rest of the severed tentacle sliding off Castiel as he sits up, groggy.

“Are you okay?” Dean grunts, panting.

Castiel nods and looks over at the monster.

“I think you made it upset,” Sam comments as they watch the river spirit gurgle furiously, its long limbs slashing the air around them, twisting and turning and throwing more water at them. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean says breathlessly and offers Castiel a hand to help him stand up.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks nervously.

Castiel keeps his eyes on the monster as it spins in place, and then he can’t see the tentacles anymore, the entire body just a blur of colours and muscle.

“It’s changing,” Castiel says and bends to pick up the angel blade from the ground.

“Into what?” Dean asks.

Instead of an answer, they all receive another roar and then a giant oblong head rises up into the air above them, its eyes yellow and its teeth sharp. The lithe body slides towards them with a threatening hiss.

“Is that a snake,” Dean breathes out as they all take a cautious step back.

“I think the proper term is ‘serpent’,” Castiel says and raises his angel blade.

“What do we do now?” Sam asks. “Cas, can you use your powers?”

“Not while the monster still alive, no. It makes me weak, it saps all my strength.”

“It doesn't’ affect us!” Dean yells over another roar. 

“Because you’re human,” Castiel says and takes a small step back towards the river, away from Sam and Dean. The serpent’s eyes follow him, the huge head swaying dangerously as it moves. “Oh. It doesn’t care about you. It wants me.”

“Cas,” Sam warns.

“It wants me… dead. Gone,” Castiel adds and thinks about his grace, hidden away in the farthest crook of his consciousness. He feels his powers tug at him, impatient, and watches as the monster seems to come alive, letting out another thunderous, victorious roar.

Castiel’s stomach turns unpleasantly, his knees buckle. The serpent lunges at him, but Castiel chases it away with his blade and jumps back.

“Cas, no!” Dean yells.

“Go,” Castiel pants as he avoids another hit of the enormous head. The snake’s tail thumps against the ground as it slides forward. Castiel lets go of another fraction of his powers and he nearly chokes on the feeling of queasiness. “Go, find something to fight it! Something to tear it apart!”

He hears Dean’s loud voice, probably trying to protest, but he knows Sam is there to drag him back towards the car as quickly as possible while Castiel distracts the monster with tiny bits of his grace that he keeps releasing while his stomach revolts and his body trembles. He feels ready to collapse and let it all go, feed the monster all of his power and turn it even more dangerous. It wanted him from the moment Castiel passed the river in the car when they entered the town, and now it’s going to get him, all of him, until nothing is left.

Everything feels hot around him, the monster’s howls hurting his ears and the ground beneath Castiel’s hands and knees shaking with every move of the serpent. He’s on all fours now, panting and trying to slowly lead the monster away from the river, the last semi-conscious on his mind being that he can’t let it go back where it belongs before Dean and Sam have a chance to hurt it.

A strong tail blows Castiel down with his face against the dirty ground, fingers scrambling to keep himself from being dragged into the river. The serpent hisses above him but Castiel can’t see, can’t turn his head, can’t move when he’s being crushed with the massive body. It’s hot, unnaturally hot, and the monster is roaring again, thumping his tail against the ground, momentarily releasing Castiel.

With the last scraps of strength, Castiel turns onto his back and looks up.

The serpent is on fire.

It’s furious and completely beyond their control, flopping around and trying its hardest to kill and maim and sneak back into the water — but it’s also unfocused. Castiel’s fingertips tingle, and he blinks up at the enormous fiery head, and he feels his power fill out every nook and cranny of his fragile human body. 

He raises his hand and the serpent is blasted up into the air, against the blue sky and the white-hot sun, the flames surrounding its head barely visible.

Then it drops back to the ground, the end of its giant tail smashes Castiel across the head, and everything turns black.

***

Castiel wakes up in the moving car.

He stirs and sits up, his head pulsing. The first thing he notices is Dean, slumped in the passenger seat, face turned in Castiel’s direction in what looks like a slightly uncomfortable position.

“He wanted to keep watching over you,” Sam says from where he’s seated behind the wheel, “but he nodded off almost as soon as we left Boulder Springs.”

“We left?” Castiel asks. “What about the monster?”

“It burned,” Sam says calmly. “After you threw it in the air, it couldn’t move for a moment and then the flames were too big and it just… screamed and poofed.”

“Poofed?”

“Up in smoke.” Sam nods. “You were unconscious so we moved you into the car, packed up, and left.”

“But… what about the oneiroi?” Castiel asks, leaning forward. “What about the people, the case?”

“They’re gonna be okay, Cas,” Sam explains. “When we were driving through the town to the motel to pick up our stuff, everyone was out and about. Groups of people, walking around, talking, laughing. Some looked a bit confused. But they looked alright. Well, I think the parents and the friends of Sally may be in bit of a shock after learning the truth that they—” Sam winces. “You know. But they’re gonna be okay now.”

“So you’re positive everything went back to normal,” Castiel says. “They’re not going to dream up any new reality anymore, they’re not going to continue just killing each other.”

“I don’t think so, no. We’ll check up on them in a few days. Maybe after—” He yawns and takes a moment to concentrate back on what he has been saying. “Maybe after we sleep the whole week off.”

“Let me drive,” Castiel says.

“No, Cas, it’s okay,” Sam murmurs. “Dean was more tired, but I’m fine.”

“I don’t care. Stop the car and switch places with me.”

Sam doesn't answer, just slows the car and parks it on the side of the low. He turns and looks at Castiel, frowning.

“Are _you_ okay? You were unconscious for over three hours and… You looked quite awful after everything that happened. We were worried. We weren’t sure—”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, only half a lie because while he doesn’t feel tired or bruised, the grace that’s pulsing inside his head seems a bit feeble. “I can drive.”

“It’s a long way,” Sam warns and yawns. “Wake me up when you need more sleep.”

They switch places, Sam snuggles down in the backseat and Castiel pushes his feets on the gas pedal. He doesn’t remind Sam that he doesn’t need sleep.

***

“You’re okay.”

Castiel jerks in the seat, pulled out from the monotony of the straight road ahead, from the constant rumble of the car beneath his feet. He turns his head to the side and smiles.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, meeting his eyes. 

Dean is still slumped inelegantly in the passenger seat but he looks more awake now, face soft in the last remains of daylight falling through the windows. He looks around, back at Sam snoring in the backseat, at the sunset in front of them. 

Then he turns to Castiel. “How are you feeling?”

Castiel grips the wheel. “I’m alright. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“I don’t,” he says, even as he rubs his eyes and hides a small yawn behind his hand. Castiel notices anyway. “Man, you looked like shit. You looked as if—”

“I’m fine,” Castiel repeats. “I’m getting better.”

“You need rest,” Dean says.

Castiel keeps his eyes on the road even though he can feel Dean looking at him. “We still have over fifteen hours until we get back to Lebanon. I’m perfectly okay to drive, don’t wo—”

“You’ve been driving for all this time?” Dean sits up straighter in the seat.

Castiel shrugs. “It’s only been… five hours, maybe six, I’m—”

“What you _are_ is stopping this car at the nearest motel,” Dean says shortly.

“I don’t need sleep,” Castiel mutters.

“The angel in you, maybe not,” Dean says. “But that’s not all you are anymore and I’m getting you into bed as soon as possible.” When Castiel shoots him a curious look, Dean blushes and looks away. “Not— not like that.”

“Okay,” Castiel says softly.

“I mean, no— not today, I— unless you—”

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel repeats and smiles. “I will stop.”

Dean clears his throat and doesn’t respond, but Castiel can see he’s more relaxed now, both eyes on Castiel again, as if watching to check if he really is okay to drive. 

They don’t talk until Dean spots a motel half an hour later and tells Castiel to park in front of it. He asks him to wake Sam up and goes out to rent rooms. Sam is still quite dazed when he wakes and seems surprised to see that night has almost fallen. Dean comes back then and throws Sam a key when he finally scrambles out of the backseat.

Sam doesn’t notice anything, but Castiel stares at the second key in Dean’s hand. Dean doesn’t meet his eyes and looks at his brother as if Sam was even conscious enough to ask questions.

“Cas doesn’t sleep,” he mutters, jinging the second key. “And I’ve just had enough of your snoring.”

Sam shrugs, waves a hand in their general direction, and stalks towards the row of rooms, his eyes barely open. Dean rolls his eyes, throws the key to Castiel, quickly grabs Sam’s bag from the trunk, and runs after him to help him find the room and lead him inside. Meanwhile, Castiel locates Dean’s bag, makes sure to lock the Impala, and goes in search of the second room. It’s a few doors down from the one Sam and Dean disappeared in, and when he walks in, he’s only a little surprised there’s a king size bed waiting for him inside.

Dean comes back just as Castiel deposits the bag in the middle of the bed and sits down, tentatively. He stops in the doorway, his face hidden in shadows, but Castiel knows he’s looking at him.

“I didn’t—” Dean pauses, and Castiel can hear him take a breath. “It’s not like that, okay? But you need to rest.”

“Okay,” Castiel murmurs and bends down to take off his shoes.

Dean closes the door, but doesn’t move further into the room, doesn’t turn on the light. Castiel can barely see anything in the dimness of the early evening. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Dean says.

Castiel puts his shoes away and flexes his toes, his dark socks contrasted against the very light carpet. “No, Dean.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says. “I’m not expecting anything.”

“Me neither.” Castiel stands up and reaches out with his hand. “But I want you near me, if that’s okay.”

“Oh.” Dean’s voice is feeble. “Yeah. I think it is.”

Castiel wiggles his fingers. “Then come here, Dean.”

Dean’s warm fingers catch his and they simply stand like that for a moment, barely able to see each other, hands clasped together and bodies close. Castiel feels Dean’s body heat, the way he smells like leather and sun-warm car, the way his hand slowly relaxes in Castiel’s grip. 

“We’re gonna be on the road for the entire day tomorrow, too,” Dean says quietly. “Let’s get some rest.”

“I don’t have any sleeping clothes,” Castiel responds, suddenly feeling the weight of his attire on his shoulders. 

He hears Dean chuckle next to him and then there are gentle hands on his arms. “Fortunately, it’s warm enough.” 

Dean lets out a questioning grunt as his hands move up and rest on Castiel’s shoulders. Instead of answering, Castiel just steps closer and nods. Dean must see him because then he’s slowly sliding the coat off Castiel’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a quiet rustle. He moves his hands back up and slowly unbuttons Castiel’s shirt, his breath warm and quick on Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel shivers when his shirt follows his coat and he is left in just a thin white t-shirt. Dean doesn’t move again for a moment, so Castiel decides to save him the trouble and quickly gets rid of his dress pants. 

“Is it—” Dean starts.

“It’s real,” Castiel confirms and moves back into Dean’s space, silently asking permission. Dean brushes his hand over Castiel’s bare arm and gently pulls him closer.

Castiel discovers it’s surprisingly easy to take Dean’s clothes off in the dark, even though all he has to help is his instinct and the sound of Dean’s breathing. He lets his fingers touch Dean’s body, soft and feather-like, caressing Dean’s neck when he opens his shirt and stroking down his arms when he slides it off. Dean stands motionless, so Castiel doesn’t stop and unbuckles Dean’s jeans, pulls down the fly, gently pops the button. Dean lets out a pleased little sigh when Castiel puts his hands firmly on Dean’s hips and pushes his pants down.

They stand there, in just their t-shirts and their boxers, and then Dean catches both of Castiel’s hands and pulls him to bed. It takes them a while to get under the covers and find a comfortable position, and Castiel chuckles when Dean keeps hold of one of his hands even as they move around the wide bed. Dean huffs a laugh as well, and then they finally lie still, facing each other, in the dimness of the room.

Dean’s face is so close that when he breathes out, Castiel feels it on his lips. 

“Hi,” Dean murmurs and squeezes his hand underneath the covers.

Castiel squeezes back. “Dean,” he hums.

“Yeah?”

“I think you should kiss me now,” Castiel whispers. He can feel a wide smile on his own face, but he can’t stop, not when Dean is so close and so warm and inviting. “If you want.”

Dean lets out a loud breath. “Do you?”

“Very much.”

“Yeah?” Dean whispers. “Where?” 

Castiel hides half of his smile in his pillow. “Wherever. Everywhere.”

Dean moves and then there are lips on Castiel’s cheek, sweet and hot and very brief.

“Like this?” Dean asks, chuckling.

Castiel closes his eyes to stop them from rolling. “Dean. Please.”

Dean kisses his jaw then, and his chin, and the tip of his nose. Castiel thinks his smile must be visible even in the darkness, it’s so wide.

“You’re a menace,” he murmurs and pulls Dean closer by the hand. 

Dean’s lips land on his neck then, and Castiel sighs and tucks his face into Dean’s chest to give him better access. Dean trails kisses along his skin, and they’re more intimate now, slower and wetter and more fervent. Castiel grips Dean’s hip with his free hand and melts against his body.

When Dean kisses him on the lips, Castiel moans into him and lets himself be pushed back into the mattress, Dean hovering over him, fingers in Castiel’s hair and one of his legs sneaking in between Castiel’s. The covers and the kisses make it almost impossibly hotter inside the room but Castiel can’t think clearly enough to do anything about it, holding onto Dean for dear life and kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm.

He can feel his body responding well, though — his skin feels on fire, so do his insides, and there’s hardness swelling inside his boxers. He drags his fingernails over Dean’s clothed back and Dean lets out a pleased groan that goes through Castiel’s entire body, down to his toes.

And then, Dean pulls away.

“Sorry,” he pants.

Castiel unconsciously reaches out for him. “For what,” he asks, his voice raspy. He touches Dean’s face and pulls him in again, and Dean goes willingly, eyes sliding closed and lips meeting his halfway. The kiss is slow and deep and Castiel feels as if he’s melting against the mattress, his body pliant beneath Dean’s skilled hands and mouth. 

Dean keeps his lips on Castiel’s when he says, “We should really get some rest.”

Castiel brushes both hands down Dean’s arms. “You’re tired.”

He sees Dean smile. “Yeah. And you are, too,” he says. Castiel wants to protest, but Dean doesn’t let him. “And we’re in a strange motel room, halfway across the country, and I’m pretty sure I still have parts of that octopus somewhere on my body.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh. “We should have taken a shower.”

“We will,” Dean whispers. The tip of his nose brushes against Castiel’s cheek. 

“Yeah?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah. And then we’ll take Sam and finally go home.”

Castiel closes his eyes. “Okay.”

“And then,” Dean’s voice gets lower and quieter, “I’ll take you to bed and kiss you. For hours.”

Castiel’s fingers tighten on Dean’s bare arms. “Okay,” he grunts.

“And,” Dean presses a long, sweet kiss to Castiel’s ear, “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Okay,” Castiel manages.

“If you want, of course,” Dean whispers. “Or we can just kiss.”

“Yes,” Castiel stutters. “I mean, yes, I do want. I want to kiss you, and I want to feel you.”

Dean hides his face in Castiel’s neck and pulls him closer, arms heavy on Castiel’s body.

“Touch you,” Castiel keeps saying, and his fingers comb gently through Dean’s hair. “Make it feel real. Love you.”

Dean shivers as he holds Castiel close, and even if he doesn’t say anything, Castiel can feel his answer in the way he grips him tighter and breathes warmly against his skin. Castiel closes his eyes and repeats his last words, and their bodies seem to be sinking into the bed, twined together, underneath the covers, and they’re both exhausted and dirty, and it feels dreamy and unreal — but it’s not. 

Dean is still holding Castiel tightly when he finally drifts off to sleep. Castiel looks down at him, smiling, closes his eyes, and lets his body rest.

He doesn’t need dreams now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] distant dreams of things to be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106012) by [Nonexistenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz)




End file.
